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tendency of our literature. Our object, in the present article, is 
to classify and condense, as far as possible, some of the informa- 
tion scattered through the work referred to ; — information that 
has been gleaned from the most varied sources — from clergymen, 
librarians, literati, Members of Parliament, town clerks, ex- 
ministers of Continental governments, popular lecturers, self- 
educated working-men, and city missionaries. Yet, in spite of 
the great diversity existing in the character, position, and ex- 
perience of these witnesses, there is found to be, on collating 
their evidence, a remarkable oneness of sentiment on the two 
more prominent topics of inquiry — namely, the disgraceful 
destitution of public depositories of books, freely accessible to 
the public ; and the growing capacity of the humbler classes of 
society to appreciate and improve the privileges conferred by 
such institutions. 

Not many years ago, the attention of Parliament and the 
public was directed to the formation of free galleries, museums 
of art, and schools of design, as a means of popular enlighten- 
ment and an incitement to intellectual pursuits. Many persons 
at the time displayed considerable opposition to this proposal, 
and libellously contended that, however successfully such institu- 
tions might be established among foreign nations, they would 
not be appreciated, and might be abused, by our own. The 
experiment, however, was made. The British Museum, the 
magnificent gallery at Hampton Court, the National Gallery, 
with various other metropolitan and provincial institutions, were 
thrown open gratuitously to the public. The boding vaticina- 
tions of the false prophets were utterly falsified. The decorum 
of the people speedily struck their jealous slanderers dumb. 
And it is now universally admitted that no abuse has attended 
the concession, whilst it is impossible to calculate the large 
measure of rational enjoyment and healthy mental stimulus that 
has resulted. Another, and a yet more beneficent improvement, 
still remains to be effected. The extensive establishment of 
public libraries throughout the entire country, and particularly 
m the large centres of fK)pulation, is one of the greatest 
desiderata of the age. Such libraries have long existed on the 
Continent, and have enjoyed the fosterage of the governments 
of the various States. It can scarcely be doubted that the 
influences emanating from such stores of accumulated lore have 
been fraught with incalculable advantages to the literature and 
general character of the people among whom they have been 
amassed. And, by parity of reasoning, it may be inferred that 
the literature of England, and the mental stature and stamina of 
its sons, denied the benefits of such institutions, must have 


proportionately suffered. The extent to which this national pri- 
vation may have tended to impoverish our literary treasures^ to 
propagate error and ignorance from age to age^ to cripple 
British intellect and limit its achievements, it is impossible to 
ascertain. We find Gibbon complaining that, in his time, ' the 
greatest city in the world was destitute of that useful institution, 
a public library ;' and that ' the writer who had undertaken to 
treat any large historical subject, was reduced to the necessity of 
purchasing for his private use a numerous and private collection 
of books which must form the basis of his work.' Even in a large 
town like Liverpool, there was no public depository of books 
from which Roscoe could procure the ordinary Italian works 
requisite for composing his ' Historical Biographies '; so that he, 
like Gibbon, was under the costly necessity of purchasing his 
own materials of literary workmanship. Only within the last 

3aarter of a century, Graham, the learned historian of North 
imerica, left this land, and established himself at Gottingen, for 
the sole purpose of availing himself of the rich and freely- 
accessible collection of books in its university. George Dawson, 
in his evidence, complained that, in consequence of the absence 
of such auxiliaries to literary labour, authors and editors at the 
present day suffered great inconveniences and losses, especially 
in country towns. The literary man is obliged to make a list of 
the topics he wishes to elucidate, and, if poor, reserve them tiU he 
visits London ; or should he happen to be in easy circumstances, 
he comes up on purpose to solve those questions. He (Mr. 
Dawson) knew a person who came up expressly on such an 
errand from Leicester; but, from not having made proper 
inquiry, when he arrived in London he found the British 
Museum closed. That necessarily created great delay. * There 
are many books which it is very necessary to refer to, and which 
ought to be attainable in all large towns, but which are not to 
be obtained in the country at all — works, too, without which 
a man could not carry on a newspaper for six months. Sup- 
posing, for instance, he wanted to write an article on the Hun- 
garian struggle, the chances are that he could not get any 
thoroughly good work on Hungarian history, or public docu- 
ments connected with that country, in Birmingham. Therefore, 
public libraries are not only desirable for the working classes, 
but also, and almost equally, for the instructors of those classes — 
the men who contribute to the periodical literature and the 
newspapers of the country.' With these few specimen facts 
before us, it may be safely inferred that the standard of British 
literature, as compared with that of foreign nations where 
opportunities of ample research have been enjoyed, has suffered 

B 2 


deterioration from the want of suitable dep6ts of books, easy of 
access. Nor can it be denied, that the same privation must have 
acted detrimentally on the great body of the people. 

With a view of establishing the fact of the immense superiority 
of foreign libraries over our own — in respect to their numbers, 
the vastness of the literary wealth they enshrine, their entire 
accessibility to applicants from among every class of the com- 
munity, and the extent to which they are allowed to circulate 
beyond the walls of the institution — we will, in the most com- 
pendious form possible, present some comparative statements of 
the principal Continental and British libraries. From the 
evidence laid before the committee, which is said to embody the 
•nearest approximation to truth that can be attained, it appears 
that France contains 186 public libraries, 109 of which com- 
prehend 10,000 volumes or upwards each; Belgium, 14; the 
Prussian States, 53, or 44 possessing above 10,000 volumes ; 
Austria, with Lombardy and Venice, 49 ; Saxony, 9; Bavaria, 18; 
Denmark, 5 ; Tuscany, 10 ; Hanover, 5 ; Naples and Sicily, 8 ; 
Papal States, 16 ; Portugal, 7 ; Spain, 27, or 17 comprising 
10,000 volumes ; Switzerland, 13 ; Kussian Empire, 12 ; whilst 
Great Britain and Ireland possess only 34 such depositories of 
learning, the large majority of whichy moreover y are accessible 
only to privileged individtmls or corporations, and ought not 
properly to be included under such a category. 

Upon further inspection of the tabular statements it is dis- 
coverable that out of a total of 458 libraries in the European 
States, there are 53 that are distinguished as lending libraries ; 
but of this goodly number, thus standing out in bold and honor- 
able relief, not one is to be found in our so much belauded country. 
In these 53 libraries alone, in the year 1848, there were more 
than seven millions of volumes, independent of manuscripts, 
which are thus rendered eminently serviceable to the inhabitants 
of the several towns, cities, and neighbourhoods in which they 
are deposited. In a statistical list, exhibiting 330 towns or 
cities throughout Europe, that are enriched by the possession 
of town, university, cathedral, communal, gymnasium, or public 
libraries, the keenest scrutiny can detect no more than eleven 
places lying within the boundaries of these favoured isles of ours, 
whilst the chief of the literary stores belonging even to these are 
placed under the most exclusive regulations. 

If from countries we descend to particular towns and cities, 
we find the contrast between our own and foreign lands no less 
discouraging and humiliating. In the following table are re- 
presented the number of libraries in some of the principal 
capitals and other distinguished places in Europe — the aggregate 



▼olumes in each town or city — ^the population of the same — and 
the proportion of volumes to every 100 of its inhabitants : — 

Name of Town. 

No. of 

Agregate No. of 


of each City or 


No. of Vols. 

to every 100 

















Venice . 






























Copenhagen . 





Montpellier . 










Hamburgh . 





Naples . 















Berlin . 





Breslau . 




















Leipsic . 















Upsal . 





Jb'lorence . 





Bbitish, &c. 

Aberdeen . 

























London . 





Manchester . 





Oxford . 





These figures but too faithfully represent the meagre supply 
of books for the free use of the people of this country compared 
with Continental States. Even Oxford and Cambridge, which at 

• For an account of the character of these Metropolitan libraries, see 
p. 14 et seq. 


first sight may strike us as being redeeming exceptions to the 
rule, yield up their solitary glory on the slightest examinatioD. 
The valuable libraries for which they are distinguished are in 
no sense entitled to the designation of 'public' — so that the 
above representation is fallaciously favourable to those ancient 
towns; the books bear no sort of profitable relation to the 
inhabitants at all, except it be the relation which the ensepul- 
chred dead bear to the living men who continually wander 
about the precincts of their tombs. The books are solely 
appropriated to the use of the literati y and students connected 
with the universities. They repose, from year to vear, upon 
their stately shelves, in solemn and unruffled quietude, un- 
questioned by the eager Hps and eyes of the outside multitude. 
Speaking of the Cambridge libraries, the Rev. J. J. Smith, 
librarian at Caius College, remarked that they were confined to 
the respective bodies in the University. There have recently 
been some enlargements and improvements introduced into the 
regulations, whereby the restrictions hitherto existing have been 
relaxed, involving a more extended admission of readers. ' The 
University for the most part consists of three degrees — ^master* 
of arts, bachelors of arts, and under-graduates. For a long tinij?» 
the masters of arts only had access to the books. After a certain 
time, those non-resident in the University, and those resident 
too, had the privilege of taking out of the building ten volumes ] 
each. Some years afterwards, the bachelors of arts, the second 
degree, had the same privilege allowed to them within otb^^ 
limits — five books, for instance, was the number allowed to ^ 
taken out; and just within this month (May 1849), they ba^^ 
conceded to the under-graduates the privilege of having bool^* 
out at the recommendation of the college tutors.* Tlie sai^^ 
witness, referring to the Bodleian Library, Oxford, stated th^ 
their system is much more restricted. For example, no masttr^ 
of arts even, belonging to the University, cither resident or non ^ 
resident, can take any book out. He must use them in thc^ 
building, from which they are never suffered to be removed. 
No under-graduate is even suffered to read the books in the 
Bodleian collection. Thus, in these famous seats of learning, to 
whose stores of erudition every British author is compeUed 
gratuitously to supply a copy of all the works he publishes, 
the members of the republic of letters are excluded from 
all participation in the advantages they have created and sus- 

The following list exhibits the principal libraries of the several 
European capitals, arranged in the order of their respective 
magnitudes. Those before which an asterisk appears, arc 
lending libraries : — 


Paris . 
Munich . 
London . 
Berlin . . 
Vienna . 
Dresden . 
Madrid • 
Stuttgard . 
Paris . . 
Milan . . 
Paris . . 
Florence . 
Naples . 
Brussels . 
Rome . 
Paris . . 
Rome . . 


♦National Library .... 824,000 

♦Royal Library 600,000 

Imperial Library 446,000 

British Museum Library . . 435,000 

♦Royal Library 412,000 

♦Royal Library 410,000 

♦Imperial Library .... 313,000 

♦Royal Library 300,000 

National Library .... 200,000 

Ducal Library 200,000 

Royal Library 187,000 

Arsenal Library 180,000 

♦Brera Library 170,000 

♦St. Genevieve Library . . 150,000 

♦Grand Ducal Library . . . 150,000 

Magliabecchian Library . . 150,000 

♦Royal Library . . . . . 150,000 

Royal Library 133,500 

Casanati Library .... 120,000 

Royal Library 100,000 

♦Mazarine Library .... 100,000 

Vatican Library 100,000 

♦Ducal Library 100,000 

It may be interesting to our readers, whilst treating upon 
these magnificent institutions, to put them in possession of a few 
curious particulars relative to their privileges, their antiquity, 
the causes that have contributed to their progressive increase, 
and the munificent funds that have been appropriated to their 
sustentation and enlargement. 

The majority of the libraries specified above are entitled, by 
law, to a copy of every book published within the States to which 
they respectively belong. This privilege is enjoyed by the 
national libraries of Paris and Madrid ; the royal libraries of 
Munich, Berlin, Copenhagen, Vienna, Naples, Brussels, and the 
Hague ; the Brera Library at Milan ; the Magliabecchian at 
Flor^cnce ; the Ducal Library at Parma ; together with the library 
of the British Museum. Exclusive of England, the practice 
prevails nowhere to so great an extent as in Lombardy and 
Venice, and in Parma — two of the worst governed countries in 
Europe. In Belgium and France, three copies are exacted ; in 
Austria, Denmark, Naples, and Geneva, two copies ; in Prussia, 
Saxony, Bavaria, Holland, Tuscany, Sardinia, Portugal, Hun- 
gary, Bohemia, and the United States, only one copy. In several 
of the Swiss cantons, copies were formerly exacted, but when the 
censorship of the press was abolished, that exaction ceased. 

In France, according to Monsieur Guizot, the bookseller is 


required to transmit three copies of every work published to 
the office appointed^ upon failure to do which he becomes ob- 
noxious to prosecution. This exaction extends to CTery succes- 
sive edition of a work, and also includes those of a costly 
description. But the government frequently subscribes towards 
productions of a high and expensive character, in order to fiu:ili- 
tate their publication. 

In some parts of Oermany, it is compulsory that every author 
shall give to the library under the special patronage of the State, 
one copy of his work ; in others, it is not compulsory, but it is 
always done, as a sort of traditional civility. It is not customary, 
however, to present a specimen of every reproduction, unless 
important alterations have been made. Mons. Libri, an Italian 
liierateur, who has had great experience in the management of 
public libraries, esteems the usage a hardship and injustice to 
authors. Sometimes, in the case of large, illuminated, or costly 
works, in order to evade the sacrifice, bad copies will be done for 
the government, so that the libraries for which they are destined 
are afterwards obliged to purchase perfect copies. From his 
familiar acquaintance with the working of this compulsory pre- 
sentation system, he entertained strong convictions of its practical 
inefficiency. ' I believe,' he asserts, ' that at least the half of 
those books are lost ; they come in, generally, in such a way — ^by 
sheets, &c. — that it is impossible to get them into proper order 
without very large expense, so as to realize the full benefit of 
the law. It has been stated that at least 25,000 volumes are 
missing in the Dep6t Legal of France. The Dep6t Le^al is the 
establishment to which the editors are obliged to consign those 
copies. It would be more advisable to keep only a single copy 
of every work, for in that way it might be preserved. At present, 
in Paris, for instance, those books are not useful at all. If any 
body applies for a modem book, printed during the past year, he 
is almost sure not to find it in the National Library.' Thus it 
seems that authors and publishers resort to every available expe- 
dient to impede the free working of what they evidently regard 
as an unrighteous law. 

In JBelaium, likewise, the law compels the producer of a book 
to send three copies of every edition to the municipal council of 
the town in which it is published, and which thus becomes a 
guarantee for his copyrignt. The work is then sent from the 
provincial town to the government. In that country there arc 
very few works towards which the government does not subscribe 
for a number of copies, thus affording a stimulus to literary en- 
terprise, and placing itself in a position to distribute some copies 
to the libraries in the provinces, thereby encouraging the esta- 
blishment and extension of such depositories. All the libraries 


liave become municipai since the time of the French republic ; 
those of liege and Ghent were ceded to the Universities^ but 
with this restriction^ that they should always remain the property 
of the town ; in consequence of which the government have 
sometimes, within a period of twenty years, spent some £12,000 
on the enrichment of those noble institutions. Although the 
Chamber ordinarily only votes a grant of 65,000 or 70,000 francs 
for die Boyai Pablio Library of Brussels, yet whenever there 
occurs a large sale of books, a specisd grant is made for the pur- 
pose. It recently happened that one of the most choice and 
curious public lil^aries had been announced for sale ; a bulky 
catalogue f occupying six vols, had been printed ; the government 
immediately came forward, bought the entire collection for about 
£13,000, and added it to the royal library at the capital. They 
did the same thing also at Ghept. The library bought at Ghent 
consisted of about 20,000 vols., and that in Brussels of about 
60,000 vols. 

In many of the Continental States, where the governments 
watch all the publications emanating from the press with great 
jealousy, the books are required chiefly in order to ascertain 
whether they correspond with the manuscript after it had passed 
the ordeal oi censorship. 

The same regulation for the compulsory delivery of books by 
authors or publishers is imposed in England. And although the 
Legislature, a few years ago, reduced the number of copies so 
exacted from eleven to five, it is still felt to be an oppressive tax, 
especially as some considerable portion of the books go to the 
extension of libraries that are not public. The origin of this 
exaction was first of all a private agreement between Sir Thomas 
Bodley and the Stationers' Company in 1610, which was after- 
wards reco^msed by the Legislature. In 1637, there was a 
decree of the Star Chamber enforcing the delivery, which had 
been much neglected. By subsequent Copyright Acts, the three 
copies originally levied were augmented to eleven. Still earlier 
than 1610, there had been a demand of one copy from every 
printer, which was purely for the purposes of censorship. Under 
the Copyright Act, the following are the libraries that were 
entitled to receive copies of works gratuitously : — The British 
Museum ; Sion College, in London ; the Bodleian Library, at 
Oxford ; the University Library at Cambridge ; the libraries of 
Trinity College, in Dublin ; King's Inn, in Dublin ; the Faculty 
of Advocates, in Edinburgh ; together with those of the Univer- 
sities of Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen, and St. Andrews ; 
making eleven in all. Tt>e Copyright Amendment Act, passed in 
1836, abolished the privilege in respect to six of the number. 


and substituted a money grant from the Treasury, varying in 
amount — the highest being that granted to Glasgow of £707 ; to 
St. Andrew's, £630 ; to Edinburgh, £575 ; to the King's Inn 
Library, Dublin, £433 ; to Sion College, London, £363 ; and to 
the University of Aberdeen, £320 ; so that much inequality now 
exists. The total amount received by those libraries is £8,028. 
The Act was not extended to Oxford and Cambridge University 
libraries, in consequence of their refusal to accept compensation, 
and the strong indisposition*they evinced to submit to any change 
in the ancient arrangements. In reference to the ineffective a^ 
vexatious working of the present law of copyright in England, 
Mr. Edwards's remarks are worthy of attention. * Even with 
regard to its express intention,' he says, ' I think it is framed 
in a very bungling manner ; for example, the booksellers of 
Dublin, instead of delivering a .book to Trinity College, mav 
send it up to London, and force Trinity College to get it back 
at its own expense. I have known that to be done. Book- 
sellers are often very much annoyed by the exaction, and obey 
the act with great unwillingness. ... It would be very desirable 
to retain the power of exacting copies, but I would grant the 
power of payment for them at the trade price ; at least in all 
instances where payment shall be requested. By this method 
we should secure the desideratum of having certain great repo- 
sitories in the country, containing all the books that are published, 
without inflicting injustice on authors.' 

An idea may be formed of the large number of works thus 
annually exacted, from the fact that during the last ten years 
there have been published in the United Kindom, 31,395 books ; 
the estimated value of one copy of each of wliich, taken at publi- 
cation price, is £13,420. This calculation embraces new works, 
and new editions and reprints of old books, but it excludes 
pamphlets and periodical publications. In Germany the total 
number of separate works, inclusive of pamphlets, published in 
1846, was 11,600; in 1847, about 11,400; and in 1848, about 
10,500. In France there appeared, in 1842, 6,445 separate 
works, pamphlets included ; and in 1847, 5,530. 

An investigation into the date of the foundation of some of the 
European libraries, and into the causes of their comparative 
progressive augmentation, is suggestive of many important con- 
siderations that may be turned to practical account by those who 
are labouring to build up the intellectual greatness of our coun- 
try. TTie most ancient of the great libraries of printed books is 
thought to be that at Vienna, which dates from 1440, and is said 
to have been opened to the public as eajly as 1575. The Town 
Library at Ratisbon, dates from 1430 ; St. Mark's Library, at 


Venice, from 1468 ; the Town Library of Frankfort, from 1484 ; 
that of Hamburgh, from 1529 ; of Strasburg, from 1531 ; of 
Aagsburg, from 1537 ; those of Berne and Geneva, from 1550 ; 
that of Basel, from 1564. The Boyal Library of Copenhagen 
was founded about 1550. In 1671, it possessed 10,000 vols. ; 
in 1748, about 65,000; in 1778, 100,000; in 1820, 300,000; 
and it is now supposed to contain 412,000 toIs. The National 
Library, in Paris, was founded in 1595, but was not made public 
until 1787. In 1640, it contained about 17,000 vols. ; in 1684, 
60,000; in 1775, 150,000; in 1790, 200,000; and it now 
possesses at least 824,000 vols. The Library of the British 
Museum was established in 1753, and opened to the public in 
1757, with about 40,000 vols. In 1800, it contained about 
65,000 vols.; in 1823, 125,000; in 1836, nearly 240,000 ; and 
it now comprehends 435,000 vols. But it is not to be inferred 
that the whole of the difference between 1836 and 1848 arises 
from the actual increase of the collection ; but is to be accounted 
for by the circumstance that many thousands of tracts, formerly 
in volumes or cases, have been separately bound, and are now 
enumerated as distinct volumes. 

The steady growth of the Copenhagen Library has been mainly 
owing to judicious purchases at favourable opportunities. The 
rapid increase of the noble National Library at Paris, since 1790, 
is in a great measure to be ascribed to the Revolution : the sup- 
pression of the monasteries and convents, and the confiscation of 
the property of rebels and emigrants, having placed many fine 
libraries at the disposal of the ruling powers of the day. And 
although, in some cases, large numbers of books and manuscripts 
appear to have been summarily disposed of * for the service of 
the arsenal,' more usually special instructions were given, that 
the officers at the head of the National Library should have an 
unlimited power of selection, and of this they made extensive 
use. The increase of the British Museum, on the other hand, 
is mainly indebted to donations. Of its 435,000 books, at least 
200,000 have been presented or bequeathed. 

Many of the chief libraries of Continental cities are sustained 
by their respective governments in a spirit of great liberality. 
The average annual sum allotted to the support of the National 
Library, at Paris, is £16,575 ; to that of the Royal Library, at 
Brussels, £2,700 ; to that of Munich, about £2,000 ; to that of 
Vienna, £1,900; to that of Berlin, £3,745; to that of Copen- 
hagen, £1,250; to that of Dresden, £500; and to that of the 
Grand Ducal Library of Darmstadt, £2,000. 

The average annual sum expended in the purchase of printed 
books for the library of the British Jfuseum^ previous to 1836, 


was only £1,185. From 1887 to 1845 inclusive, the sum 
devoted to this purpose averaged £3,443 a year. In 1846 and 
1847, in consequence of urgent representations having been 
made to the Treasury of the great deficiencies existing in the 
collection of printed books, a special increase of the Parlia- 
mentary grant was made, amounting to £10,000. In 1848, 
however, this sum was reduced to £8,500 ; whilst, in 1849, it 
was still further frittered down to £5,000. The entire amoimt 
of this latter year allotted to the sustentation of the library, in 
all its departments, is £23,261. The aggregate of the sums ex- 
pended in the purchase of printed books, including maps and 
musical works, from its foundation, in 1753, to Christmas, 1847, 
is £102,447 ; and that expended in the purchase of manuscripts, 
£42,940: together, £145,387. The sums expended during the 
same period, in prints and drawings, amount to £29,31 8 ; in 
antiquities, coins, and medals, to £125,257 ; and in specimens 
of natural history, to £43,599. 

A comparison between the funds appropriated by the French 
and British legislatures, for the general formation and mainte- 
nance of public depositories of books, places the latter in a still 
more unfavourable light Confining our attention to those 
libraries alone which constitute independent establishments, and 
where the exact amount of funds can therefore be ascertained, it 
appears that, since 1823, the French government has voted tho 
sum of £426,571 for four public libraries in Paris, exclusive of 
another sum of £107,426 for buildings and their maintenance. 
The accounts of the expenditure of the French Institute show 
that £16,848 have been appropriated to its librarv, during the 
same period, from the public treasury ; to that of tne University 
of Paris, £18,011 : making a total of £456,430 devoted to the 
public libraries of Paris ; exclusive of those of the Museum of 
rl'atural History, the School of the Fine Arts, the Observatory, 
and the fine public library of the Conservatory of l^Iusic (which 
is said to contain 17,000 vols.). If the proportion of the public 
grants to these institutions expended on dieir books be calculated 
approximately at £65,000, the aggregate total so expended by 
votes of the French Legislature will be £521,430 ; or, on the 
average, to £20,055 a year. 

During these same twenty-six years, the sum devoted by 
the British House of Commons to public libraries in London, 
IB, at the utmost, £282,486; or, on an average, £10,864 
a year. 

The bird's-eye view we have thus endeavoured to present of 
the great libraries of Europe would be incomplete without a 
hasty glance at those connected with the Universities, lliosc 



specially entitled to notice may be ranked in the following 
order : — 

Breslau . 
Munich . 
Bologna . 
Prague . 
Vienna . 
Leipsic . 
Turin . . 
Louvain . 
Upsal . . 
Erlangen . 
Glasgow . 

♦University Library. . 

University Library . . 

Bodleian Library . . 
University Library . 

University Library . . 

University Library . . 

Public Library . . . 

University Library . . 

♦University Library . . 

University Library . . 

University Library . . 

University Library . . 
♦University Library 


Trinity College Library 
♦University labrary 

University Library . . 

University Library . . 

University Library . . 


The foundation of the University Library of Turin dates 
from 1436 ; that of Cambridge^ from 1484 ; that of Leipsic^ 
from 1544; that of Edinburgh, from 1582; and the Bodleian, 
from 1597. The small library of the University of Salamanca is 
said to have been founded in 1215. 

The Gottingen, Prague, Turin, and Upsal, are lending libra- 
ries. Those of Gottingen, Prague, Turin, Oxford, Cambridge, 
and Dublin, are legally entitled to copies of all works published 
within the States to which they respectively belong. The 
number of volumes accruing to the Bodleian from the operation 
of the Copyright Act, since 1825, computing them from the 
number supplied to the British Museum, would be about 38,000. 

The annual expenditure of the Tubingen Library is about 
£760 ; of the Gottingen Library, £730 ; of the Breslau, about 
£400. That of the Bodleian, at Oxford, is now about £4,000 — 
of which sum £1,375 is defrayed by proceeds of various bene- 
factions, about £650 by matriculation fees, and about £1,500 by 
* library dues.' 

In reference to the degree of accessibility to all the foreign 
libraries that have passed in review, it may be generally affirmed 
that admission is granted unrestrictedly — to the poor as well as 
to the rich — ^to the foreigner as well as to the native. * The 
libraries of France,' says M. Guizot, * are accessible in every 
way ; for the purpose of reading, and also for borrowing books. 
Any ^oorkman, whatever his social condition, who can obtain a 


certificate from his employer as to his respectability and honest 
may have books lent to him.' We have also the assurance t 
his Excellency, M. Van de Wcyer, that the fourteen libraries o 
Belgium ' are all accessible to the public ; any person, without 
any letter of authorization, may go into them and be supplied 
with a book, if he asks for it.' The same privilege is shown to 
exist in the libraries even of jealous and priest-ridden Italy. 
M. Libri states that, in almost every totcn of Half/, there arc 
public libraries freely accessible to the public — a concession 
limited only by the necessity of applying for permission to read 
forbidden books, over which the Church and the government 
keep a strict watch. For instance, the Florentine * History of 
Macchiavelli ' is prohibited, and there are many others to which 
the same restriction extends. Generally speaking, the books 
are not lent out to individuals to read at home ; but the libraries 
attached to all the universities of Italy lend books to professors ; 
whilst the privilege of reading, instead of being monopolized by 
the students, is shared by the public at large. The access in 
Italy is more unrestricted than that enjoyed at the British 
Museum. Respecting the libraries of Germany, C. Meyer, Esq.i 
German secretary to his Royal Highness Frince Albert, says: — 
* They are, with few exceptions, freely accessible ; they arc. 
moreover, lendmg libraries, which is one most important dif- 
ference between the English and the German libraries. Every 
citizen has free access to the town library, and every member 
of the University has free admission to the University library ; 
and each of these two classes of readers can mutually introduce 
the other to the respective libraries they are privileged to attend. 
Thus the system in tlie German towns is somewhat analogous 
to that adopted at the Britisli Museum, with this important dis- 
tinction, however — that the latter is not a lending librnry, 
whereas the introduction to a German library confers the right 
of taking away books.' 

Now it appears that we have only one library in Great Britain 
that affords the same measure of advantages and facilities with 
the glorious array of foreign collections at which we have 
glanced; and that is the library founded by IFumphrey Chetham, 
in Manchester. There are ten or eleven libraries to which 
admission may be secured by the production of some sort of 
recommendation ; and there are about twenty in addition that 
are accessible as a matter of grace an<l favour. 

In our metropolis there are a few old and scanty libraries, but 
which, however resu>citated and improved, would never be com- 
mensurate with the mighty wants of our extending population. 
The more ancient part of London i*» the spot best supplied. The 
vast population which i«! beinix almost daily addrd to our modem 


Babylon, is withdrawing further and further from the feeble 
beams which these conservatories of light diffuse. The City, and 
Llic precincts of llie British Museum, are the localities best fur- 
oinhfrl with boolcs. But so far as libraries may he regarded as 
uixiUarics of eound learning, and as an index to popular intelli- 
jeaco !Ln<l intellectual progress, a kind of literary darkness and 
Hi^tuitiou Kccms to prevail over the congregated masses inhabit- 
ing the nettly-formed districts of the metropolis. For instance, 
thert' ix no public library to he found in Pimlico, none in Mary- 
leboii«, nwnc in Finsbury, none in Islington or Hackney, none tn 
3oathwark, nnd only the shadow of a departed one in \Vestmin- 
rtcf. AlmoHt every collection of books in London or the pro- 
nnoea that can aspire to the character of a public library, owes 
to orifcin to a somcwhal remote date ; showing that our ancestors, 
rith all their imputed inferiority, paid more at(«ntion to the for- 
natioD of nuch institutions than ourselves. We will give a few 
lariiculars respecting some of them. 

-Dr. Williamii'a Library, situated in Red Cross-street, in the 

jity, was opened in 17"9. It originally constituted the private 

xiUection of Dr. Williams, an eminent Presbyterian divine, to 

irliich he subsequently added the hhrary of Dr. Bates- It is 

rested in troEtees, who, eafly in the trust, placed it undet tha ' 

Ktministratibn of the Court of Chancery, for the purpose oT ' 

r,-,n-f Trin.i; all i-c-]inii>ilnliiy fn-m Wa ti,s, Ivrs. Miiny v:,!u3ble 

lonations and bo(|Ufsts liiivc been, in past ycais, made to the 

ibujidalion ; and thr uunibir of volumes now contained in the 

library is about "0,Wii). Tlic specific object of tlic founder in csta- 

hlisliiii!,' it is not defined in the will. The Inistecs Jiace recenllij 

eitciii/c'/ i/s nthaittii(/rs lo ncenj jhthoii ofrrKjtccta/iil/li/, free of ull 

expense ;uid trouble. Tlie works are principally on theology, 

(-cclisia-ticcil history, and biosiapby, with a few in all the more 

important di p^irtiiicut- of leoriiinii. There is aceoinmadatiun for 

ii'.iy.n -iMv Traders; /n't ///c ii'imJxr ,rho fn'qwnt thr room 

'l-ru,,, //-,; ',j.^,ir ihws )!'-> aaroiji- more ih.m' Jijlij or .■■ij/i/, and 

'I";- II,.' chirjlij (la-!,ii:t. Vn'uv^,m couimon widi all our liliraLics:, 

"hIv open diiiiDL; the dav, will II the multitudes arc iieces^nrily 

Wily cniraiied in the pm>iiir- o\' trade, its iiilluence ami utility 

an.-virvslii,'lit. The librarian tliinlv- it i-. situated in a bud Incalily, 

ami siigtjfits its reino\id to the neishbonrhood of I'liiversity 

*'ol|pj;e, where, by an inerea'e of aceominodatioii, and by being 

tlitonn open in tlic evening, it might become a real blessing to 

m fvllow citizen.. 

N.>t far from Dr.Wllliams's Library, in London A\"all, is s.ituated 
lU library of .SVV,h C<jllr,jr, founded bv Dr. Wliile, rtetor ol' St. 
Hun-tun's in the West, in the vear 'iCJ*). The eoiidiiions of 
.'irais^ion arc somewhat similar ll. those of ibe llritish Mns<>um. 


A note from any Fellow of the College — that is to say, any incum- 
bent in London — ^will introduce a reader for twelve months ; while 
a discretionary power is given to the librarian to allow persons to 
consult the library whom he may consider qualified. The primarj 
object of the library was to anord literary fiEunlities to the EstSr 
bhshed clergy of the City of London. The number of yolomei 
ranges between 35^000 and 40^000 ; they are on eeneral Bobjects, 
withy however y a larger proportion than usual of theolopcd 
works ; many of the books are exceedingly rare, or altogether 
unique. The collection is rich on general history, particulailj 
concerning the times of Charles I., and of the same period on m 
Continent. The number of persons who frequent the library 
is not more than 300 or 400 a year ; and the number of voloiiiet 
in circulation during the same period do not exceed 6,000, all ^ 
which are taken out by the clergy, A few physicians and men of 
antiquarian research irequcnt the room ; but no persons of tie 
working, and very few of the middle, classes of society. The Bev. 
Mr. Christmas^ the librarian, suggests that by an arrangement 
enabling more persons to take out books on certain terms of sub* 
scription, this library mis^ht be opened to the public, and 200 
readers accommodated, wncre at present there are not more than 
six or seven. It is, however, unlikely that this, or any other 
library in a large town, will be extensively used, unless it be open 
in the evening. 

In the city of Westminster, there still slumbers the library 
founded by Archbishop Tenison, in the year 1685. In the 
'orders and constitutions' of the founder, it is declared that 
* the books of the said library* are to be * for public use, but 
especially for the use of the vicar and lecturer of the said parish/ 
and other clergymen within the precincts. The ' public* intended 
to be bcnefitea by this collection, consists of the inhabitants 
residing within the boundaries of the ancient parish of St. Martin. 
The trustees arc appointed for life by a Master in Chancery. 
The books are mainly upon theolop^ical subjects, of great variety, 
curiosity, and value ; but do not exceed 4000 in number. They 
are stated by the librarian to be in as dilapidated a condition as 
books can well be : they Jire kept under the careful custody of 
lock and key, and are never taken down to be cleaned, whilst 
the bindings are rapidly going to decay from neglect. During 
eighteen months, one studious person only applied for per- 
mission regularly to consult the books : he did so for three or 
four days, and then gave up in despair, lliis library has been 
degraded into a club-room, where persons repair to read news- 
papers and play at chess. Were it restored, it is thoueht that it 
would be mucii frequented, and that accessions would be made 
by way of donations. It appears that accommodation could with' 


ease be provided for thirty readers. The restoration of the library- 
is now under the consideration of the trustees ; and it certainly 
migbt form the nucleus of a good local library for "Westminster. 

These, with the British Museum and the Lambeth Palace 
library, constitute the entire public provision for the intellectual 
nurture and delectation of more than two millions of souls! 
How far they are adapted for that purpose, we leave our readers 
to determine. 

Connected with the deaneries and chapters of our cathedrals, 
there is an ancient set of libraries ^commonly called cathedral 
libraries. Of these there are thirty-four in England and six in 
Ireland. Their basis is theological ; to some of them additions 
are annoallv made ; and attention is being given to their restora- 
tion and improvement. In several, a moderate freedom of 
access is conceded to the public. The number of volumes in 
each ranges from 4,000 to 11,000. These, if the sanction of 
those who preside over them could be obtained, would form 
excellent nuclei of provincial libraries for the ancient cities of 
our land. 

Parochial libraries once prevailed to a considerable extent 
throughout this country. Evidence has been collected of the 
existence of 163 such libraries in England and Wales, and 
. 16 in Scotland. They were generally designed for the use of 
the clergy. Their foundation was, in the first instance, due to 
individusu benevolence ; but subsequently, and principally, to 
the efibrts of Dr. Bray and his * associates,' at the beginning and 
in the middle of the last century. They have, in most cases, 
been suffered to go to dilapidation. In Beccles, Suffolk, 
however, the books have been rescued from neglect and danger, 
deposited in a room, and made the germ of a tovm library. This 
laudable example is commended to the imitation of others who 
possess the perishing wreck of a public parish library. 

We have done. A multitude of reflections and practical 
suggestions come thronging upon us; but, however important 
they may seem, we impose a rigorous restraint on ourselves, and 
conclude this, wc trust not valueless, article without further 
comment. The facts we have massed may be safely left to pro- 
duce their proper practical effect upon the minds of our intelli- 
gent readers, and act as a powerful stimulus to benevolent 
activity on behalf of the myriads of our untaught. The ex- 
ertions of the British people may do much towards supplying 
the deficiency we have pointed out ; and what they have already 
accomplished clearly proves, that they need only to be apprised 
of their doty honestly and earnestly to set about its perform- 

VOL. xxviii. c 


Aet. II. — Two Years' Residence in a Levanttne Family. By Btyle 
St. John, Author of ' Adventures in the Libyan Desert^* &c hx. 
London: Chapman and Hall. 1850. 

There are various types of life on the shores of the Mediter- 
ranean, which, after the lapse of many thousand yetrf, 
continues to lave some of the most interesting portions of our 
globe. Commerce, industry, empire, art, literature, and beaatji 
have consecrated those lands. Revolutions without number tbey 
have known — ^barbarism and civilization have visited them by 
turns — but nothing can ever deprive them of their hold on tk« 

Among the populations which, by their singular charteter 
and customs, most strike the traveller in Western Asia, should 
undoubtedly be enumerated the Levantines. Christians in creed, 
but Muslims in manners, they unite many of the pecidiaritiesaf tbe 
East and the West. In the superstitions which accompany both 
religions, they firmly believe ; while, yielding to the scdoctionf 
of the climate, they may likewise, without the slightest exsj^crs- 
tion, be said to combine in themselves the vices of Europe and 

Until now, however, we scarcely knew to what author to 
refer for an honest account of these people. Those travelki* 
who lean towards the Muslims are apt, unconsciously perhaps* 
to depreciate the Levantines, while the fanatical antagonisti ^ 
£1 Islam ridiculously exalt them as a pretext for vilifying tbe^ 
persecutors. Among neither of these classes could we hope ^^ 
find either truth or justice. Prejudice is always a suspicioi^* 
witness ; and, in general, it may with truth be said, that thel 
who have hitherto written on Egypt and Syria have suffered 
themselves to be swayed by their sympathies or antipathies. 

Mr. Baylc St. John, in his ' Two Years* Residence in ^ 
Levantine Family,' has kept wide of the stumbling-block ovc<' 
which a majority of his predecessors have fallen. Possessing ai^ 
amount of education which rarely falls to the lot of travellers, 
and having evidently been disciplined in philosophy, he was 
enabled to contemplate society from a loftier point of view, as 
well as to record his opinions and impressions in a style at once 
polished and picturesque. He had, moreover, no interests to 
serve but those of truth. lie was neither a merchant nor a 
missionary ; neither a polemic nor an antiquarian ; neither 
a geologist nor an engineer. He was merely a gentleman, 
with a strong dash of |)olitic8. It must be obvious, therefore, 

ST. John's kestdence in the levant. 19 

that between him and the Levantines there could be no 
particular ground of quarrel. He was not there to thwart 
them in any of their speculations — did not stand in their way, 
or they in his — and had, in fact, no object but to observe their 
manners and customs himself. 

Eschewing the quarter of Alexandria appropriated to the 
Franks, he pitched his tent among the native Christians — not 
precisely because he preferred them to the Muslims, but because 
among the latter it would be difficult to find a family which 
would receive a Frank into its bosom. Many of the Levan- 
tines themselves would have shrunk from him as a heretic ; but 
Sitt Madoula, the widow of an Italian physician, had, at all 
events, profited so far by her connexion with one European, as to 
be able to tolerate the company of another. Her son Iskender 
had made still further advances in the track of civilization ; and 
was rather proud than otherwise — as well he might be — of asso- 
ciating with a Frank from the far West, who had come to Egypt 
expressly for the purpose of studying the character of its 
inhabitants, and reporting on the subject to Europe. 

Still it was only by slow degrees, and as he gained more and 
more familiarity with the language, that Mr. St. John really 
found himself at home among the Levantines; and no doubt 
there still continue many traits in their character, manners, and 
customs, down to which even his assiduous and protracted 
scrutiny did not enable him to descend. However, his volume 
is one of the most charming and instructive we have ever read 
on any portion of the Levant. To the careless observer his 
sprightliness and vivacity may, at first sight, conceal his philo- 
sophy ; but a greater familiarity with the volume will, un- 
questionably, show that, beneath the surface of an easy and 
gossiping narrative, there lies a mine of good sense and profound 
observation. What we are most pleased with is, the absence of 
bigotry. Whatever religion or sect the writer has to speak of, 
he does so without bitterness or injustice ; thinking it no part of 
his duty, as a traveller, unfairly to disparage or exalt any sect 
or party. 

When a writer's philosophy is not contained in formal dis- 
sertation, but lies scattered through his pages like a vein of 
gold running through a mountain — now appearing and glittering 
on the surface, and now descending and hiding itself in its 
depths — it would be a weary task to give the reader a correct 
idea of it We shall, therefore, not make the attempt. The 
book is small and cheap, and in all respects calculated to become 
popular ; so that the instruction it contains may be said to be 
within the reach of every one. We shall undertake the more 
agreeable task of skimming along its surface, and selecting some 

c % 

so ST. John's residbncu in the lbvant4 

few of its lively passages, which cannot fail to fascinate all who 
peruse it. These extracts will suffice to show that, if the tra- 
veller who moves over a vast extent of country can sometimes 
astonish by the grandeur of his pictures — by grouping and 

S resenting in one view an immense assemblage of objects — ^by 
elineating mighty deserts, or pursuing the course of vast and 
fertilizing rivers — the man who stations himself on one spot, 
notices minute peculiarities, sketches personal characters, and 
develops the unambitious features of domestic life, likewise 
possesses advantages entirely his own. The one awakens those 
powerful emotions which await on greatness and sublimity ; the 
other touches those softer and more delicate feelings whidi 
belong to the domain of the heart and the affections. The former 
passes over the earth like a mere intelligence, sympathizing with 
nothing, but observing and delineating all things; the latter 
enters into his subject like a man from whom nothing human is 
alien. We like both ; but, as a general rule, what belongs to 
manners and character is more permanently interesting than 
that which derives its fascination from external nature and the 
elements, or from men contemplated in vast masses. 

The reader will remember what Sterne says of a certain class 
of men who will travel from Dan to Beersheba and find all 
barren. The aridity is in their own minds. What they are 
in search of is something with which to iniflate their own 
consequence, or amuse or flatter the consequential classes of 
readers ; and as nature does not abound with this sort of material, 
they really must be at a loss to find anything worthy of their 
notice. Not ranging at all in this category, Mr. Bayle Sl John 
no sooner found himself on the northern skirt of Africa, than 
he began to rove with the Arabs and observe their peculiajritieoL 
One of the first things which strikes everybody could not, of 
course, escape him ; we mean that propensity to vituperatioDt 
abuse, and rage, which the lower orders of Arabs so perti- 
naciously indulge in. The French, Italians, and other con- 
tinental nations possess so rich a vocabulary of abuse that 
Englishmen generally find themselves stricken with amazement 
at the fertility of their genius ; but it is nothing after all to the 
copia verbarum of the Arabs. Had Sterne, when about to write 
bis chapter of curses, consulted any old woman of Alexandria, 
•he would unquestionably have enabled him to enlarge it greatly. 
We here in Europe, when inclined to indulge in the luxury of 
malediction, are generally content with the present generation ; 
but an Oriental, when he undertakes this agreeable duty, will so 
bock to the flood, and curse you up all your progenitors to tne 
very moment of the commination. It was with no little surprise 
chat Mr. St. John first witnessed the exhibition of this Oriental 


faculty, which must, in fact, continue ever to astonish all strangers 
from the West. 

* The lower orders/ he says, ' are often extremely noisy, and nothing 
can equal the Toluhility of the women. The fair sex of Egypt appear 
generally well made, except ahout the hust, but their features — I mean 
uiose of the humbler classes — are harsh and coarse. I do not think this 
arises either from exposure to the sun or hard work. The same 
observation is not made in India ; all I know is, that the persons of the 
Egyptian women are strongly developed, and that in their language 
and manners they bear a great resemblance to the lower orders of 
Irish. The fierceness of their quarrels is something surprising ; I 
have seen an old dame for a whole quarter of an hour perseveringly 
attempt to get a young man who had offended her in order to scratch 
bis face. Her tongue never ceased to utter all the while the most 
awful curses, and she actually foamed at the mouth, and throwing 
herself on the ground rolled about in transports of impotent rage. 
According to the custom of the country, however, she did not turn 
upon those who held her. Let me hasten to add, that never have 
I seen tenderer mothers than in Egypt. It is my impression, indeed, 
though I should not like to be too positive on such a subject, that maternal 
affection is the only pure passion of which the Egyptian woman as a 
role is capable. I have often heard it said by them, " A husband is a 
husband ; if one is lost another is to be got ; but who can give me back 
mychild?'"— P. 14. 

In walking through the streets of Alexandria, you constantly 
see crowds hurrying hither and thither, you know not why or 
wherefore ; shouting, singing, screaming, bawling, as if every 
man, woman, and cnild present had just dropped into the in- 
heritance of a large fortune. There is, perhaps, no people on 
the earth so merry as the Arabs. It is, indeed, true that no 
people on earth stand so much in need of a light heart and a 
short memory, since none has been called upon to suffer so much 
or so long. But they make the best of this world, and seize on 
every pretext and occasion for laughter and merriment. Each 
man's business in Egypt is every man's business. If you buy a 
field, all your neighbours wish to see you strike the first plough 
in it ; if you marry a wife they are equally complaisant ; and if 
you are to be circumcised or Duried the same crowd will follow 
ou to the end of the chapter. Of course, this must not always 
e set down to sympathy or good nature. No quality is more 
prominent in the Arab's character than the love of excitement, 
which marks him out among all Orientals as the best fitted for 
civilization. He has feelings to be worked upon, talents to cul- 
tivate, and a mind to be developed ; therefore, dl that regards him 
must always possess an interest for the rest of mankind. 


22 ST. John's residence in the levant. 

Mr. St. John's pictures of Alexandrian life fully bear out our 
views on this subject. He observes, that 

* Among the most characteristic sights to he seen in Alexandria, is 
what is called a fantasia, or procession for a marriage or circumcision, 
often united in one. The poor children about to he admitted within 
the pale of Islamism are handsomely drest, generally as girls, and are 
carried on horseback ; each is bound to hold a white handkerchief over 
its mouth ; women with cakes strung on sticks walk beside them, and 
give them when they ask. In very hot weather an umbrella is held 
over their heads. The horses are borrowed, of course, and are often 
richly caparisoned. Two huge drums and a few fifes precede, and at 
the head of all there is generally sham-fighting with staves ; some of 
the combatants indulge in a sort of symboUcal dance, now kneeling, 
now stooping, and making all sorts of gestures and grimaces. Any 
one who chooses takes the stick in turn. A man carrying a flag, or 
else a long reed, is generally near the head of the procession, and some- 
times a bufibon with a long thin beard rides about on a donkey. 

' I went in the afternoon to sec a splendid afiair of the kind. An 
immense crowd accompanied the bufibons and the stickmen, who, on 
this occasion, were followed by a band of singers. After them came 
four or five camels with brilliant housings, and bearing the children 
devoted to circumcision ; then some led horses ; and then an awning of 
handsome striped muslin supported on four poles, and carried by 
whoever chose to offer his services. Under this, the poor little bride, 
completely enveloped, head, face, and all, in a piece of yellow crape, 
slowly shuffled along ; whenever those who were amusing themselves 
ahead thought proper to make a move, she could not see her way, and 
two or three portly dames, who half enveloped her in their black silk 
mantles, acted as guides. A wild kind of merriment formed the chief 
characteristic of the scene. The women uttered the zugharit, or 
shrill cry of joy ; boys were fighting who should carry the awning ; 
others were cuffing each other, biting, kicking, and pinching ; a few 
men employed to keep order enhanced the confusion by rushing here 
and there, and striking at random. Some attendants, with handsome 
cups and zorfs, or platters, offered coffee to all who chose to partake ; 
others scattered perfume ; others burned incense in little censers. The 
lookers-on seemed highly amused, and it was difficult to pass in the 
streets. Such a procession often lasts the whole day.' — P. 19. 

As might be expected, the Arabs, like all other Orientals, are 
fond of the night, which, in the East, is inexpressibly beautiful. 
When they have to traverse the desert they select the night, 
the caravans, extending in long files, stretch themselves out, 
and appear interminable in the moonlight. The night also 
is a favourite time for little family feasts for parties of dancing 
girls, for visits to tombs, for a stroll in the palm groves, or 
for witnessing the humours of a fair. Mr. Bayle St. John falling 
naturally into the ways of the people, soon contracted their taste 

ST. John's besidence im the levant. 23 

for the nighty and often describes^ with singular felicity^ the beau- 
ties of Oriental scenery at that stiU season. 

Among the institutions of the East, there is one, unfortu- 
nately, too well known all the world over — we mean that of 
slavery, which even Christianity itself, hostile as it is to it, has 
not yet been able totally to eradicate. Public opinion, more 
powerful in the East than religion, prolongs the date of the de- 
testable system, in spite of the letter and spirit of the gospel. 
Many travellers have apologized, more or less formally, for do- 
mestic slavery among the Muslims. They say it is mild, and so 
in some respects it is compEired with the slavery of other coun- 
tries ; but still it is a ' bitter draught.' Nothing can ever 
reconcile the mind to the reducing of one human being to be 
the property of another, which, in fact, is sinning against the first 
principle of humanity — equality. We are aU equal before God ; 
and whoever aims at establishing the contrary, is, in spirit and 
feeling, a tyrant. No doubt it is possible to mitigate the horrors 
even of slavery, but it is disgraceful to the possessors of intellect 
to palliate its infamies, or to seek, by sophistry and cunning, to 
ward off the detestation of mankind. Mr. Bayle St. John points 
out, with great acuteness, the mischievous nature of the institu- 
tion, even under its most favourable aspect, in the following very 
touching passage : — 

' During the early time of my residence with Sitt Madoula, before I 
was considered part of the family, I went to see her one morning, and 
found her in conversation with a tall, handsome black girl, wrapped in 
a white melagah, or mantle. The Sitt reclined in the comer of her 
divan, smoking a shosheh, whilst the girl stood at a little distance, with 
her hands meekly crossed. After the usual compliments, I was told 
that this was a slave belonging to a Turkish lady just arrived with 
her suite from Algiers, to meet her husband, who, however, had gone 
on to Stamboul, leaving word that she was to follow. As, however, 
he had forgotten likewise to leave money enough to defray the expenses 
of the journey, it seemed quite natural to the lady to dispose of one of 
her handmaidens, and accordingly this one had been selected. Zarifeh 
herself was telling the story as I entered, and although it did not seem 
to occur to her that she was the victim of a most unjust system, she 
could not help expressing her regret at being thus suddenly thrown out 
of the bosom of one family to seek for a place in another, or rather to 
take the place which chance might assign her. I elicited the fact that 
although her mistress sometimes beat her even for talking in her sleep, 
and for being frightened on board the vessel in which they had coasted 
the whole north of Africa, yet, considering all things, she had been 
happy with her. Here, then, was one instance in which the miich- 
vaunted kindness with which the Orientals treat their slaves was 
turned into a weapon of torture to them. The stronger they are bound 
by ties of affection to their owners, the more cruelly are their feelings 

24 ST. John's RESIDE^XB in the levant. 

wcninded when the vicissitudes of their servile life throw them into tbt 
market. Struck hy this circumstance, I afterwards made inquiries, and 
found that instances in which slaves remain attached to one fanulj 
throughout their existence, are comparatively rare. If misfortune over- 
takes a man, of course the slaves are sold ; they go as part of the pro- 
perty — in the case of failure for example ; and how many Egyi^itn 
merchants have not failed once, twice, thrice. On the first presBurc of 
pecuniary difficulties, one, at least, of the slaves of the house is got rid 
of. " I have so much in my shop," you may often hear it said : '*! 
have huilt so and so, and I have the donkey and Zaxsi,'* 

' Zarifeh tried hard, poor thing ! to persuade my friend to buv her. 
She walked about to show that she was active, arranged the 
cushions of the divan, and trimmed the shosheh, to exhibit her famili- 
arity with the usages of a genteel house ; and laughed with forced 
gaiety to prove that she was of a good temper. There was a ground 
of objection, however, which the Sitt suspected, and the truth of which 
she endeavoured to ascertain, by a series of suddon questions and art- 
ful cross-examinations ; but Zarifeh denied, with well-feigned indigna* 
tion, the double life of which she was not permitted to be proud. 

* The chief difficulty, however, still remained. Would two days rf 
trial be allowed ? " Unless they are," said Madoula to the girl, ** I 
shall not buy you. How do I know what bad habits you may have : 
you have acknowledged you talk in your sleep ; I don t care for thit» 
as you will be shut up all night ; but you may be a liar, you may be 

a thief, you may .*' And here followed a list of vices incident to 

female slaves, during the utterance of which I scarcely knew whether 
to look at the ceiling or the floor, but to which poor 2iarifch listened 
most patiently, firmly denying that she possessed such habits and im- 
perfections. One of her observations was sensible enough ; for she 
said that a trial of two days would be of no avail, since any perBon, in 
her position, could put on a fair outside for so short a time. Altogether, 
it was observable that she had been brought up in a good family, and 
knew something of the world ; and it was easy to see that Sitt MadouU 
rather feared that she was rather too clever and knowing. I had no 
doubt of her being something of a politician, for she endeavoured 
throughout to appear in the character of a simple girl, whereas she 
was, in the Eastern style, a rcflned and well-educated woman. How- 
ever, such was her fascination, that the Sitt would certainly have bought 
her, but that her mistress sent an old duenna with a message from the 
WallMah, where she was living, to the effect that an offer had been 
made, and that, unless the money was immediately forthcoming, Zari- 
feh must return. The girl accordingly departed, not without expres- 
sions and looks of sorrow ; but she had scarcely been gone half an hour, 
when Madoula, who had sat reflecting dnring that time, clapped her 
hands, and calling her servant, ordered him to go instantly, and say 
that she would pay the price. It was too late, Zarifeh had already 
passed into the harem of an old Turk, who had made up his mind at 
once on seeing her.' 

* ** God is merciful/* said the Sitt, consoling herself. ** Perhaps that 
girl had some grievous fault, and I may be well delivered. *' Her 


evanescent affection for Zarifeh was here wafted away on a long 
sigh ; and she added, smilingly, " I shall send to-morrow morning for 
half a dozen girls from JeUaha. You must be here to give your 
opinion." '—P. 189. 

It would be easy to multiply similar extracts almost ad infini- 
tum ; but the specimens we have selected will suffice to show how 
full of amusement and variety the volume is. Mr. St. John has 
carefully noticed every phenomenon of Levantine society, which 
he has ably contrasted with that of the Muslims. He has 
likewise contrived to introduce into his work an account of 
Mohammed Ali and the government of Egypt, of which he has 
formed a correct appreciation. The Jesuitical manners of the 
old Pasha could not impose upon him, and still less the inferior 
arts of such persons as Abbas Pasha and Artim Bey. These 
individuals, considering themselves to be distinguished disciples 
of Macchiavelli, imagine they can easily overreach European 
travellers, whom they look upon, oflen very justly, as weak and 
snperficiid incarnations of vanity and self-conceit. Occasionally 
they make a mistake, and encounter among the horde of 
visitors some one qualified to turn the tables on them, and pene- 
trate through their wiles and devices, without being in the 
slightest degree intelligible to them. Mr. Bayle St. John 
seems to have performed this agreeable duty pre-eminently well, 
and is entitled to the respect of the reader accordingly. 

But there are other things in Egypt besides Turks and Pashas, 
and the odious intrigues of petty courts. There is the charm 
of grand solitudes, and the aspect of a physical nature more 
beautiful in its kind than anything offered to the eye by 
European reg^ions. It is a vulgar error to regard the Nilotic 
Valley as unpicturesque. Peculiar, no doubt, it is ; but that it 
abounds with the materials of poetry — in other words, that it is 
capable of influencing the imagination, and of generating 
elevated and romantic ideas in the mind, will be evident from 
the following passage. It occurs in a delightful story which 
Mr. St. John relates of a dreamy German, who, for the recovery 
of bis health, took up his abode in Rossetta, the Er Rashid of 
the Orientals. 

' From the terraced roof of his house, when the scorching heats of 
the day had passed — when the sun was ofily to be seen in patches of 
red or gold low down among the palm-trees on the borders of the 
desert — when the panting land of Egypt was inhaling, in long 
voluptuous draughts, the cool evening breezes from the sea — when the 
groves and the fields were bathing their dusty vegetation in the balmy 
dews of twilight — when the last songs of the boatmen were trembling 
along the listless surface of the Nile — when the birds were coining 
home from the rice-grounds, and the bandit hawk was unwillingly 

26 ST. John's kesidencb in the levant. 

quitting his look-out upon the minaret, and the owl showed his great 
capacious head on some old fragment of wall — when the gaudy moths 
were hieing gaily to consimie themselves in the first flickering taper 
that gleamed, like dashing yoimg lovers in the flame of an early 
passion — when hungry dogs yelled angrily at the heels of some solitary 
passer-hy — when the notes of distant musical instruments were 
sprinkled into " the drowsy ear of night," or the sound of hoisterous 
merriment swept up from the river-side — when measured voices from 
tottering minarets impressed the necessity of prayer upon cong^'ega- 
tions that had vanished from the earth — when the rising moon formed 
a silver background to the dusky lace-work of palm-groves that adorned 
the outline of the Delta — when the stars stooped into sight, like fair 
damsels from their mysterious balconies in the sky — above all, when, 
at the hour of midnight, Nature seemed to faint into silence, to swoon 
with amazement at her own beauty and solitude — then it was that 
Herman, from the terraced roof of his house, would take flight on the 
wings of his imagination, and search round the depths of the heavens 
for his ideal !'— P. 279. 

"We have omitted to allude to very manv topics touched upon 
in Mr. St. John's volume, but must not rorget to observe that 
there are several stories introduced, which, for fidelity of descrip- 
tion, and simplicity and force of narrative, resemble, and in many 
respects equal, the tales of the ' Arabian Nights.' This is more 
particularly the case with ' Mohammed the ill-favoured, and 
Fatmeh the well-fevoured,' which discloses much of the interior 
economy of a Muslim family. No ground is described but that 
which the writer himself has travelled over — the Delta, the 
banks of the Nile, and the environs of Cairo. Fouah, where the 
story commences, is a place of irregular appearance, the aspect 
of which has not been greatly modified by the establishment of 
factories within its walls. Nowhere, perhaps, in Lower Egypt, 
can you enjoy from the roof of your house more delicious pro- 
spects at morning or evening. On one side you behold the 
boundless desert, stretching away towards the setting sun ; while 
close at your feet flows tne mighty Nile, with blue or ruddy 
waters, according to the season of the year. On the other side 
you have long ranges of palm-forests, interspersed with lakes and 
ponds, and bright green rice-fields, and villages, and minarets, 
and light and graceful Sheikhs' tombs, bathed in the soft glow of 
evening. On the mimosas, or sycamores, near at hand, you be- 
hold flocks of the white ibis resting on branches like huge flower 
petals, or incrustations of snow ; while the roofs of the town (flat 
and parapeted) swarm with evening parties, smoking or sipping 
sherbet in the open air. Here and there, perhaps, a sweet female 
voice rises through the twilight, accompanied by the sounds of 
musical instruments, interrupted at times by the wild howl of 
the jackal ; such is Fouah, where few Europeans have ever 

blakey's history of THUjoaowm:. 27 

resided^ though there is setFedy a town in Egypt where one 
conld^ pass a few mondis more pleasantly. Mr. Bayle St. John 
lias Tisited it, and profited by his familiarity with go beautiful a 
spot. At the end of the Tolume, we are pleased to see announced 
a series of views illustrating his visit to the Oasis of Jupiter 

Abt. Ill,— History of the Philosophy of Mind, By Robert Blakey, Esq. 

870. Four Vols. London : Saunders. 

Few subjects have been expressed under a greater variety of 
names, than that of which the history is proposed to be given in 
the volumes befi>re u& Intellectual philosophy, metaphysics, 
psychology, the physiology of the mina, are examples of these 
terms, among many others. On the continent, this study has 
been known by the designation of speculative philosophy ; and 
sometimes it has been simply called — philosophy. In Scotland, 
we may find it laxly included, together with ethics, under the 
name of moral philosophy. In England, it has long been called 
the philosophy of mind, the term chosen by our author. The 
only objection that we know of to this otherwise strictly appro- 
jmate designation is, that, according to the letter, it expresses 
more than it is intended to convey — which is the philosophy of 
the kuman mind. 

The philosophv of mindy in general, cannot with propriety be 
restricted to the human mind. In strictness, it concludes a vast 
field limited only by the line of demarcation which separates the 
gross materialism everywhere surrounding us, and certain forces 
and agencies (such as heat, light, and the various electricities), 
from those phenomena which, in the form of will, intelligence, 
and feeling, present to our observation something which we 
know not how to class in any category of mechanical or chemical 
causation. Thus we speak of mind in brutes. Nor can we help 
doing so. The sagacity of some animals, apart from their wonder- 
ful and unvarying instincts, at once leads us to a sort of com- 
parative philosophy of mind, which obliges us to confess our 
Ignorance respecting some of our theoretic distinctions between 
man and the creatures immediately below him, however familiarly 
these distinctions may have been supposed by us to be ascer- 
tained. We need not say, with some, that man is only the 
evolution of a moUuscum^ in order to render consistent our 


postulate, that among the animals below him we find, within 
certain limits, the analogue of the human intellect, of human 
emotion, and the like. Nor, indeed, arc we so startled at sudi 
an assertion as some might think reasonable. If all that is meant 
by the ^ evolution ' spoken of, be that there is a gradation in the 
anatomical and physiological structure of the whole animal crea- 
tion, from the lowest tribes up to man ; that Nature (to use i 
convenient abbreviation for the Author of Nature) does not pro- 
duce living beings, in their various genera, as it were yn 
saitum ; but that tliere is a law of continuity observable from the 
most simple to the most complicated stnictures; — then we are vcij 
content to call this an evolution. No doubt, however, there ■ 
wanting such a law of continuity with regard to mind, nnee 
man's reason, will, and moral feehng, place him at an inaccesei- 
ble distance from the most sagacious of the lower animals. Never* 
theless, it is not easy to say where intelligence ends; Dr. Gram^ 
theory of distinct motive and sensitive columns in the neiroiV 
axis of the invcrtebrated classes, as had been previously knomi 
in the vertebrata, tends still further to induce ttie philosopher of 
mind to pause in attempting to draw the line. It is Bud 
(not without evidence) even of the polygastric or infusorial ani- 
malcules, that a careful observation of them, ' by presenting tiie 
simplest analysis of the most complex mental phenomena, thro^ 
a new light on the most obscure ])arts of the pnilosophy of mindy 
and the Taws of its influence on the animal frame.' 

In strictness, then, the subject of the work before us is the 
philosophy of the human mind. And let none of our readen 
suppose that it is frivolous or useless to lay stress on the di^ 
tinction of terms. Of the immense importance of terminologj^i 
no one who knows anything of the historj' of science can lie 
unaware. The progress of chemistry, of botany, of mineralogYi 
of almost any science whatever, testifies this fact. Crystafl^ 
graphy, a branch of the last named science, after being iraprovcd 
among the Germans by the introduction of a consideration of 
the crystallographic axes, now promises to be brought to a still 
more definite form by a more luminous notation on the same 
axial system. In the study of the functions and phenomena of 
the mind of man, it is obviously desirable that nicthcMls should 
be adopted, so far as the subject allows, similar to those which 
have so frecjucntly proved successful in the natural scienceai 
We are glad, therefon.*, to see indications of a revived attention, 
in this country, to a branch of incpiirv which has lieen illustrated 
by the names of Ix)cke and Hoid, wfio may l>e said to stand al 
the head c)f our Hritish psychology, or philosophy of the human 
mind. We hope the issue will Ix? a still fiirtlier elaboration of 
mental philosophy ; and one sign of this will he, a cl<»sc attention 


to the employment and signification of terms. We are quite 
aware that toere are well-meaning persons to be founds who 
are inclined to suppose that material phenomena alone admit 
properly of being tneorized and systematized on philosophical 
principles. This notion has been fostered by the ontological 
turn which speculations concemiqg man's mind haye taken in 
some of the foreign schools. The result has been, in some 
quarters, not the old pantheistic materialism, but a spiritual* 
istic pantheism, which Las identified being with thought We 
are fully persuaded that our sober English intellects, trained 
and disciplined by the exact sciences, are in little danger of being 
led away, to any great extent, by the meteoric lights of genius 
which have dazzled so many on the continent, with their varying 
hues, from the time of Fichte downwards. It is evident, that 
there is a philosophy of man, as a sensuous, appetent, instinctive, 
intellectual, moral, voluntary being, quite apart from all specu- 
lations as to the nature or essence of his mind. There is a 
science of phenomena and functions, independently of their 
proximate causes, so £Eur as objective ; and it is to this that our 
English and Scottish philosophers have chiefly addressed them- 
selves. We do not mean to say that little importance attaches 
to inquiries tending to throw light on the question whether mind, 
even in man, is only a function of brain producing, as a sort of 
galvanic battery, all the phenomena of consciousness (as some 
even in our own day would have us believe) — or whether these 
same varied phenomena do not point to a unity which demands 
the admission of some principle lying behind all these so-called 
galvanic phenomena, or electro-magnetic. The question is highly 
interesting, more especially on religious grounds, and on those 
which relate to our interpretation of certain passages of Revela- 
tion ; but we mean to say that, apart from this question, there is 
a philosophy of the human mind; just as there is a physical or 
mechanical philosophy, apart from the question regarding the 
material world, as agitated between the monadic theory of Lebnitz, 
the idealism of Berkeley, and the realism of mankind in general. 
The study of the history of mental philosophy, as related to 
man, is an indispensable prerequisite for improving the theory ; 
for it requires little reflection, and little knowledge of the 
subject, to produce the conviction that a true philosophy of this 
kind must be eclectic — it must be drawn from all the sources 
which present great principles, however these principles may 
be found to have been carried too far in any oi the past or of 
existing schools. M. Cousin, in France, has endeavoured to 
construct a philosophy on this system ; and the idea is a good 
one — perhaps the only one that can promise any chance of a 
well-developed, just, and comprehensive theory ; though we cannot 

so blakey's history 

but think that, in the hands of this eminent writer^ a syncretism, 
sometimes heterogeneous, of opposing systems, has been pnh 
duced, rather than an eclecticism throughout consistent with 
itself. This was to be expected from an attempt to force into 
union schools so different as those of Rcid and HegeL We are ta 
from thinking that there arc no good points in the philosophy of 
Cousin, or that this acute and eloquent writer has not done giMxl 
service to the science of the subject by his contributions to its 
history. Not, indeed, that we regaru him as always a tdt 
guide, even in the detail of other men's opinions. This, we 
think, it would be easy to exemplify ; for instance, by referenee 
to his criticisms on Locke and Kant. But what is equallj— if 
not more worthy — ^hcre to be noted, is, that Cousin appean, in 
our judgment, to fail in a just appreciation of the difficulty of 
the ontological department of metaphysical philosophy. He 
seems to regard tne ^passage firom psychology to ontologr' 
almost as smooth and easy as walking out of one room into 
another ; and on any principle or theory which it seems reasonable 
to adopt, we do not see how that phraseology can be justified 
in which we arc told, — ^Dieu est si pen incomprehensible 
que ce qui constituc sa nature, cc sunt precisement lei 
idecs, les idecs dont la nature est d etre inteliigiblcs.* It has 
been the fashion in the Eclectic school to lay all the sofaae- 
quent materialism of France at the door of Bacon and Locke: 
— nay, the horrors of the great French Revolution, at the 
close of the last century, have been eloc{ucntly traced to the 
doctrines of these philosophers! Cette mistrable phUomfjAk^ 
is the style and title by which (Cousin designates the philosophj 
of this school. But whatever fauhs may attach to the thinking 
of the above two illustrious men, if the perversion of their views 
by the materialists who surrounded them is to be regarded « a 
blot on their escutcheon— what shall we say of the easy inference 
which might be drawn, to the prejudice of natural theology, 
from the above quotation, whicli occurs in the introductioa 
to Cousin's ^ History of Philosophy Y We cordially admit the 
service which Cousin has done to morality, to religion, and to 
his country, in superseding the insensate materialism of Cabania, 
Dcstutt de Tracv, and Volney, by a philosophical reform, in 
France, so muct more in harmony with spiritual and reli- 
gious ideas; but we arc strongly inclined to differ from him 
in his judgment of the English school: and we are much mis- 
taken if Cousin's philosophy, as a whole, shall bo found to take 
any deep root among us, tfiough we learn that it is taught in 
some quarters with considerable devoted ness to the name of the 
great Eclectic leader. We mistake the intellectual character of 
our countrymen, if it be not ultimately found that the philosophy 



which is destined to prevail in the midst of us shall have much 
nore aUianoe, in its spirit, at least, with the philosophy of hocke, 
than with that of Cousin. 

None of our readers can be unaware that; at the present time, 
the relation of Christian theoloey to philosophy is assuming an 
aspect of impc»tance which has hardly belonged to it, in our own 
coontiTy since the period which followed the Restoration. The 
searchmg spirit of the age has led to a revision of all opinions, 
on all subjects; and the doctrines that are held by the various 
sections c^ the Christian Church are not escaping from the 
general scrutiny. Many entertain great apprehensions of the 
consequences' of this altered state of things. Implicit belief in 
the doctrines which have been hereditarily transmitted, or have 
been received from oiur religious party, is, in many more in- 
stances than before, substituted by an eager and anxious inquiry 
after some theory l^ which to solve difficulties which previously 
excited but little attention. Possibly an increased tendency to 
something approaching to a kind of sceptical uncertainty, at- 
tended with a hope of further light, may have invaded not a few 
of the most upright minds. Different individuals, according to 
their knowledge, their intellectual tendencies, and their moral 
cast of character and feeling, will look at this subject from 
different points of view. Enough, however, has already taken 
phice, in the way of speculation and controversy, to remind us 
of the struggle m which philosophy and theology were engaged 
in the scholastic ages. This conflict was long and arduous. 
From an early period of the Greek philosophy, to the death of 
Proclus, the last head of the Neo-Platonic School at Athens, 
philosophy had maintained an independent existence, which was 
thus prolonged far into the times of Christianity — ^nearly five 
centuries. But, during the first period of scholasticism, we see 
philosophy brought entirely under the dominion of theology. 
It was maintained by Joannes Erigena and his school, that 
philosophy and religion are not two studies, but only one. The 
consequence of thus endeavouring to force two distinct and 
parallel lines of truth into coincidence, tended to distort both. 
Christianity was philosophized — Neo-Platonized; and philosophy, 
in her turn, became the echo of the existing and predominant 
human form of theology. Independent inquiry ceased. From 
the earlier part of the ninth century, the writings of Aristotle 
began to be studied by the Arabians, and afi;erwards in various 
parts of Europe. Another era now arose. Philosophy, pre- 
viously merged in theology, or identified with it, acquired a sort 
of co-ordinate, but separate, existence and authority. The 
doctrines of the Stagyrite were at length placed nearly on a par 
wiUi the Jewish and Christian Scriptures. In one part of 

82 blakby's history 

Germany, his ethics might be heard publiclj recited io 
church. It seems, then, to have grown almoet into an aziooiy 
that there could hardly be any real variance between tbeologjr 
and Aristotle; and when there was an appearance of difr- 
crepancy, the most subtle refinements, and the moat captioas 
quibbles, were resorted to, in order to effect the show of reeat^ 
cilia tion. In the thirteenth century, a tendency to greater 
freedom of inquiry manifested itself, llaymond LuUy puUiahed 
his ^ Ars Lullia,' which, though he was incited to compose it faj 
command of a fiery seraph, in a vision (as he had peniuaded 
himself), was not of a character to support existing opioion^ but 
was an attempt to reform the reigning dialectics, which had 
been so much employed in aid of the supremacy of the Church. 
The commencement of a spirit of inquury might now be 8eeii» 
in various ways, towards the separation oi philosophy from the 
yoke of ecclesiastical authority, and towards the independeDt 
study of truth for its own sake. This boldness, however, was not 
without hazard. There was heresy, not merely ia theological 
opinion, but also in innovation itself. Roger Bacon was known 
to be sometimes busily engaged in the work of the laboratory, and 
was seen to meditate profoundly on the stars ; he had» indeed, 
entered on the true and real path of science, the path of ex- 
periment and observation, into which his illustrious namesake 
afterwards formally conducted the scientific inc^uirer; and he 
was taken for a magician who had dealings with the powen 
of darkness, was restrained from reading lectures, and was 
imprisoned for ten years, at Paris, as a dangerous innovator oa 
established opinions. It is a singular fact that, during the 
period of the decline of scholasticism in the fifleenth century, 
there was a revival of the ancient sects of philosophy: Plato was 
studied anew, and the rising tendency to free inquiry, which 
issued in the Reformation, was kept up by the disputes of 
Platonists, Aristotelians, Epicureans, Mystics, and even some 
of the sceptical school of Cameades. 

One of the arguments against the Reformation most insisted 
on by Roman and Anplo- Catholics, is, that it produced a complete 
unscttlemcnt of all religious opinion, and o|>ened the flood-gates* 
not only to all sorts of heresies, but to Deism, and even to Athe- 
ism itself. They point, by way of illustration, to the Deistical 
writers of England, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries 
to the Atheists of France in the latter of these periods, and to the 
subsequent Rationalists and Pantheists of Germany, the ultimate 
successors of the English school Now, we are not prepared to 
deny, that had it been possible to hold the human mind, on the 
grand scale of nations, in ignorance, and to continue suppressing 
freedom of opinion, if not of thought, in the bud — as was so long 


altempted — there might have been now as much of the appear- 
ance of uniform belief, as there was in Christendom during the 
daricest of the dark'^ages. But what is any mere creed worth, as 
a test of moral and religious character, which is merely hereditary, 
and remains undisturbed, not in consequence of conviction sub- 
sequent to examination, but simply from ignorant and indolent, 
or peiiiaps compulsory acquiescence ? That Christianity should 
have survived all controversies, is an incomparably greater test 
of its essential truth, than the dead calm of a whole millenium, 
such as causes of the kind just mentioned might produce. We 
confess that we are not among the number of those who anticipate 
any ultimate evil consequences from an increased attention to 
speculative philosophy among us, or from new attempts to apply 
its conclusions to the revision of our views of Christian behef. 
To attempt to repress such inquiries, we hold to be as idle as 
to forbid the wina to blow, or the tide to ebb and flow; but we 
do not apprehend the same results to our holy religion, which 
have, by a variety of conjimctures, attended free inquiry in mat- 
ters of faith on the continent of Europe, more especially in 
Germany. We consider the English mind to be tar less in 
danger, generally, of being carried away by talented speculation, 
than either the French or the German. The French intellect 
is characterised by great rapidity of conception. It begins to 
theorize almost before the facts of the case are laid before it It 
has a singular power of analysis. Hence the temptation is to 
philosophize unduly by deduction. True to their great coun- 
tryman, Descartes, whom they think more of a philosopher than 
our Bacon, they better like the business of drawing effects from 
causes, than ascertaining causes from effects. Even in their 
mathematics, we may see the illustration of their characteristic 
tendency to development They will, for instance, give endless 
deductions by way of applying an equation, while they neglect any 
other proo£ In their speculative reasonings, they are especially 
apt to be misled by the predominant analytical tendency of their 
minds, because it causes them, often, to pursue one idea to excess, 
without suflSciently considering its bearing on and harmony with 
other ideas of equal importance. Hence they will sometimes 
pursue their favourite theoiy by a sort of steeple-chase road, 
not much concerning themselves at the impediments that mav lie 
in their path. M. Cousin is a splendid type of this sort of mind ; 
and he has achieved a brilliant reputation among his countrymen 
on this account But, great as are his merits as an analyst of 
ideas, the very facility and smoothness with which he glides 
through all difficulties, is enough to make an Englishman pause ; 
for one striking idea is not enough to satisfy his calm and cau- 
tious love of truth. He is always stopping you in your easy 


Si blaket's history 

course, and asking with a modest scepticism — how yoa Teooocile 
this and that? The Germans, again, are enormous theorijei& 
This is amply testified by their successive philosophical systeau^ 
of which one has always been in the ascendant, to the prejudice 
of the rest Less analytical and accurate in detail thain the 
French, the spirit of their speculations is equally deductive; 
and they have a vast passion for drawing out trains of abstract 
reasoning, undaunted by what, even to French Eclectics, aa well 
as English Lockians or Kcideans, would seem to involve rooaC 
startling and extravagant, or even absurd resulta With a love 
of science and philosophy (apart from any advantages that are to 
be got by them) probably greater than is found among any other 
people, the Germans do not appear much concerned about tnaio- 
taining the dignity of consistency with themselve& It would not 
be very difficult to decide who would feel the most reptimaoce 
at coming down to his class every twelvemonth with a new toeoiy, 
subversive of his old ones, an English or a German Profinsor. 
Nor is this to be put down merely to a readiness to follow truth, 
lead where it may. It is very much due to a sort of adven- 
turous love of theory, and a want of that jealous caution which an 
Englishman is wont to feel at publicly committing himself to an 
opinion. To say nothing of our orthodoxy, we arc too aober* 
minded, as a nation, to forsake our Ulieism, founded on the doc* 
trine of causation and design, for either a material or an ideal 
Pantheism. We do not expect ever to see in this country a 
school of those who shall rejoice in the name of Fichte, Schelling, 
or Ilegcl. A few boys in their teens, who have been par^ 
educated in Germany, may come back with their heads jnill of 
idealism — perhaps with some Pantheistic notions, or some mo- 
difications of the * right,' * left,' or * centre ;' but it would sur- 
prise us much to find honest Englishmen of character and 
education, in any numbers, seriously avowing themselTes Pan- 
theists from conviction. Even Mr. Owen, with all the advantage 
of flattering his followers by the most alluring prospects of 
physical prosperity as the infallible result of his Sociaksm, hai 
wholly failed in his attempt to found a species of Pantheism,— nf 
his very contradictory and unintelligible homilies on the theolo-' 
gical idea, deserve to be called any ism at all: though if any 
theory is expressed by them, it is tliat which denies a personu 
God. What half-dozen Englishmen, in their sober senses, would 
be found gravely maintaining, with l^chte, in any feasible mean- 
ing of his words, that the ego is the creator of the ideal non-Mi^— 
that is, of the supposed universe of things ; or, with Schelling, 
that the Deity did not attain to personality till he became 
developed into the existing universe, and that this all-one was, 
in its primitive form, not properly to be called God ; or, with 


Hegel, that God is simply identical with the process of thought 
and reason in human consciousness, and has no other existence 
than in its perpetual development ! 

While we freely admit that speculation has run wild among 
our neighbours, we are far from joining the hue-and-cry against 
Germany and everything German, in which some have of late 
indulged, from sheer unacquaintance with the object of their 
alarm. They seem to have reasoned thus : — Some things from 
Germany are bad ; therefore all are bad. To forswear, as many 
well-meaning persons are inclined to do, everything German, 
without discrimination, is about as reasonable as to ' forswear all 
history.' We doubt not that the increased study of German 
literature in this country, and of English literature in Germany, 
will be mutually beneficial to the philosophy and the denomina- 
tional theology of both countries ; for it will bring to the test of 
a foreign tribunal, national or sectional systems and modes of 
thinking, which, at home, are like objects that are too near to the 
eye to be most advantageously examined. 

Mr. Blakey is evidently a hearty believer in the truths of our 
holy religion ; and his concern for the interests of morality and 
Christianity always deserves our respect. In a prime matter of 
philosophy, however, we cannot speak of him as holding doc* 
trine quite to our mind. His heterodoxy here is, truly, on a 
most vital point — ^no other than the entire nature and character 
of Logic. From the time of Aristotle, at least, logic has been pre- 
supposed in all the branches of science (vide Met. iv. 3) ; it has 
been considered as lying tacitly at their basis, if not formally 
and openly. The first great master of reasoning laid down, more 
than two thousand years ago, the principle that we either learn 
the general from the individual and particular, or the individual 
and particular from the general. The first mode of procedure is 
inductive reasoning ; the latter deductive, as found in the ordi- 
nary syllogism. It is true, no doubt, that Aristotle's was not a 
mere formal logic, like that of Kant, and many since his time. It 
did not content itself with merely analyzing the forms and ftmc- 
tions of thought ; it extended itself to the real, and sought the 
exemplification of the forms of thought in the investigation of 
the varied modes of being to which these forms correspond. But 
in so doing, Aristotle departed from the true scope of logic, and 
divei^ed into another branch of philosophy, namely, metaphysics. 
The more modern views of logic have tended, with propriety, to 
limit it to the formal science ; but both Aristotle and his remotest 
followers have agreed in regarding it as embracing within its 
range all the subjects on which we can reason, or, in other words, 
as applicable to them all ; it has always been the science of proof 
in general. Not so our author. He asserts that logic is * con- 


36 blaket's history 

fined, by its very nature, to the following subjects :-^Mental 
Philosophy ; Moral Philosophy ; the Science of Politics, in its 
widest sense, including jurisprudence and the art of government ; 
finally. Religion, both natural and revealed/ We consider 
this view of the subject to be decidedly erroneous, and, as &r as 
we know, quite novel. It would, we think, be easy to convbce 
any intelligent and candid person, that when a man concludes 
that if he wishes to reach Birmingham from London in four 
hours he must go by rail — he performs an act of reasoning 
or of logic, similar to those acts by which, knowing the 
previous propositions of Euclid, he might be assured that the 
angle at the centre of a circle is double tho angle at the circum- 
ference, both angles standing on the same arc. On the contrarji 
our author would entirely exclude mathematical evidence from 
the province of logic, which he evidently understands to be a 
peculiar mode of reasoning, limited, as he expresses it, to ' sub- 
jects connected with human nature, or related to human nature.* 
But we must refer our readers who wish to hear Mr. Blakej 
speak for himself on this point (regarding which his theory is| 
as appears to us, so strange) to his * Essay on Logic' 

Our author states that the history of philosophy, in all aces 
and nations, shows the uniform prevalence of the theory that 
mind and matter are two distinct and separate things : * Here 
there is a solemn unity of universal assent, which no hardihood 
of assertion can deny, no captious sophistry gainsay.' Wc should 
be sorry to subject ourselves, with justice, to the charge of 
either hardihood or sophistry, in venturing to comment on this 
sweeping statement ; but the paragraph m which it occurs, in 
the Introduction, will surely strike the student of the history of 
philosophv as obviously too unqualified. The earliest 8p<;cula« 
tions of which we have any account among the Greeks respecting 
the nature of soul or mmd, appear to have been materialistic. 
Thus, among the Ionic physical or psychological philosophers, 
Thales held that water or moisture was the first principle of all 
things. So Aristotle informs us (vcwp tlym Tt)v opx^*** ^I<^^ i* 3)* 
It is doubtful, in the opinion of llegel and others, whether 
lliales did not maintain even the generation of the gods fitnn 
the same element. The conception of deity as intelligence, 
appears hardly as yet developed. According to Diogenes Laer- 
tins, lliales said that the ' deity is the oldest thing, and ' time 
the wisest* He also said that ' mind is the swiftest thing ;* and 
Aristotle, the highest authority for the doctrines of his pre- 
decessors, says that Thales ' seems to have considered the soul as 
something moving ; since he said that the magnet has a soul, for 

it attracts iron.* (roK \i&oy yl^v\9lv ?X'"'* ^^' ^^^ irifffptty ru-(7. De 

Anima, i. 2). Anaximencs maintained that the stars were 


divine, immortal^ and unchangeable beings^ made from air; 
and that the human soul was also air; (4 ^^ ii ftfia-ipa 
iiip oltra. Stobaeus^ i.) This psychological theory, if it was 
an adyance from Thales, was still materialistic — ^it was not 
spiritual or immaterial. Diogenes of Apollonia, again, went 
no farther beyond Anaximenes than to endow the air-soul with 
intelligence — in the tenet that the soul was air he ^eed, 
as Aristotle testifies, with the preceding school. The Epicu- 
reans, a^in, regarded the soul as subtile air, composed of atoms 
or primitive corpuscles ; while among the Stoics it was held to 
be flame or light. 

And here it is worth while to remark that, although we would 
be far from intimating that no importance is to be attached to 
the question — whether mind or soul be a separate bein^ from 
the body, and capable of a separate existence — that is (as we 
suppose the question to be commonly understood) is the soul 
immaterial? — we do not hesitate to repeat that a system of 
psycholo^, both metaphvsical and experiential, may be con* 
structed independently of this question. Indeed, if psychology 
is to be a human science at all, we would go fnrtner, and 
maintain that it may be conducted in a manner more strictly 
scientific, by waiving the decision of this question altogether. 
At all events, the ontological speculations to which this inquiry 
would lead, may well be regarded but as forming a remote 
chapter in the philosophy of mind ; and as comprising one 
topic only, among many others, which, though quite admissible, 
are not necessary to a sound science or philosophy of the mind. 
For we hold the idea of this science — tnat is, of psychology — 
to have been fairly fulfilled, when we have constructed a science 
of phenomena. In so saying, it is evident that we are only 
calling for a procedure similar to that which prevails in the 
natural sciences, which discuss phenomena, and not essences. 

The account of the opinions of the ancients would have been 
the better, if the authorities had been uniformly quoted. Not 
that this important ingredient in the rehearsal of these opinions 
has been neglected. The authorities, however, are generally 
thrown more or less together in the mass ; and sometimes those 
of the most importance are wanting. At other times, testimonies 
are not brought forward which might, at least, have properly 
admitted of introduction. Thus, under Anaximander, we have no 
reference to Diogenes Laertius, to Stobseus, or to Schleiermacher*s 
dissertation on Anaximander's philosophy, before the Royal 
Academy of Sciences at Berlin. Under Anaximenes, neither 
Cicero (' De Nature Deorum,* and * Quaest. Acad.') nor Stobseus 
is named, nor Dan. Groth, author of a dissertation, * De Vita et 
Physiologia Anaximenis,* published at Jena in 1689. Diogenes 

88 blakby's history 

of Apollonia made the important step of endowing the 4^» or 
primary substance^ the soul^ with intelligence : he is disniissed, 
however, with a dozen lines ; and with no reference either to 
Aristotle^ Cicero, Eusebius, or any writer. Schleiermaeher has 
also a paper on the philosophy of Diogenes. Similar is the de- 
ficiency in respect to Leucippus, the founder of atomism. Aris- 
totle's account of his main principles should have been refenedto ; 
but no references to any testimony are given, unless we miffht so 
consider the observation that ' Huet and Bayle have both le- 
marked that his theoiy is very similar to that of Descartes.' But 
we must not dwell longer on these philosophers of the earlier 
schools. On the whole, we have, sometimes, been a good deal 
disappointed with the part of the work which relates to the 
ancient schools of Grreece — ^for instance, the account of Flato. 
We have, on this philosopher, not quite a dozen pages, fcdlowed 
by a heap of references. This, in a work of more than 2,000 
pages, is a small comparative allowance, especially constdering 
what has been done by the Germans. Very meagre, also, is the 
account of Aristotle. There are barely six pages on his neta* 
physic, if even all those pages can be said to be on it. About 
twenty more are given to logic and the syllogism, in which the 
syllogism is strangely discussed first. Another chapter followa, oa 
analysis, synthesis, and analogy, as in use among the ancients. 
In common with ourselves, we presume that the reader would 
expect to find here some allusion to the synthesis and analysis 
of those illustrious men, the Greek geometers ; but there is no 
reference to them whatever. Let it not be said that this has 
nothing to do vnth a philosophy of the mind ; for these two men- 
tal processes surely deserve to be exhibited in their rarioiis 
applications. Analysis and synthesis, as understood by the 
]Newtonians, difier much from the original geometrical mean- 
ings. The terms are found in chemistry, physics, and the 
philosophy of the mind ; but with an essentially different sense 
from that of the Greek geometers. We might surely have 
looked for something like a little history of these important 
terms, in an express dissertation on them. 

We have a final chapter in that part of the work which treats 
of the Greek and lloman philosophv, on the opinions of the 
ancient philosophers, up to this period of history, on a Deity, 
and the human soul. The author here remarks, justly, thattliere 
are two extreme classes of opinion with regard to natural theo« 
logy. Some good men have been very jealous of allowing any 
natural knowledge at all of the Supreme Being. They have con- 
tended that llevelation must have the sole honour of making 
known to man the existence and attributes of a l^eitv ; and that 
without it no knowledge of God would now have been foond 


among meiL This extravagant position is deservedly rejected. 
On the other hand, we have had writers on theology who would 
say that all that is contained in the Scriptures respecting God, 
might be found in Plato and Aristotle. This opinion is equally 
orroneous. While the heathens are condemned, as heathens, for 
not improving the knowledge of God which Nature afforded — 
certain it is that the God of the ancient philosopher is not 
exactly the image of the Grod of the Jews or of the Christianfl. 
Judaism and Christianity offer, and they offer authoritatively, 
information re8|>ecting God, which is much more detailed and 
practical than can be found elsewhere. They bring God down 
into the human heart«*^they do not make him a mere mechani- 
cian, or a cold abstractiosi, or a fond idol of the imagination. 

We think that our author has not exactly appreciated Locke's 
statement, which he quotes from the second book of the ' Essay^' 
where that diatinguished philosopher complains that the mental 
' Acuities have been spoken of as so many distinct agents ;' 
Locke never meant to confound all distinction between the menUJ 
operations and Acuities. He only says that ' powers are relations, 
not agents.' Nor does the quotation which our author adduces 
from the ' Essay ' help him to the conclusion at which he seems 
to wish to arrive. ' It being asked what it was that digested tha 
meat in our stomachs, it was a ready and very satisfactory answer 
to say that it was the dige$twe faculty. What was it that made 
something come out of the oody? The exptdswe /acuity. 
What moved ? ITie motive faculty ; which ways of speaking 
will, I think, amount to thus much : — that digestion is performed 
by something that is able to digest ; motion by something that is 
able to move ; and (so) understanding by something that is able 
to understand.' We must leave our readers to judge how far 
Locke can fairly be adduced as supporting the theory of abolish- 
ing all distinction between the mental faculties. 

We regret that we have not space for any of the interesting 
quotations from the writings of Alfred, so deservedly named 
• the Great.' These occur in a chapter entitled * Saxon Meta- 
physics.' They are in the dialogue form, and arc on the 
subjects of * Chance,' ' Freedom of the Will,' * Why Men have 
Freedom,' * The Divine Fore-appointment,' ' Human Nature 
and its best Interests,' and on the ^ Divine Nature.' It would 
be doing injustice to the meditations of this truly illustrious 
prince— of our monarchs the most illustrious — to quote a mere 

We must pass over a good deal of interesting historical 
matter respecting the scholastic metaphysicians, and others, 
who preceded Descartes — as well as a dissertation on the 
influence of language on speculative philosophy, in which there 

40 BLAKBT*8 H18T0BT 

are many good remarks, together with others which appear 
to us not to have any very definite or consistent aim. TJnrtj 
pages follow on Descartes ; but the account of him is rather thai 
of an hiBtorian, than of Uie acute, independent ezamiBer and 
philosophical critic. We are glad, however, not to find our 
author tripping, as many have done, at the aphorism, eofUo erm 
9um/ as though Descartes meant this for an argument. Mr. 
Blakey, however, might here have quoted Descartes hinmnlf, in 
his * Reply to die Second Objection,' where he savSy m so 
many words : * I think, therefore I exist, is not conduded by 
force of a syllogism, but as a thing in itself evident.' In the 
critical remarks on Descartes, the author relies much, and jiudy, 
on the able and judicious statements of Dugald Stewart. In the 
remarks on Malebranche (which are too brief for a work of this 
magnitude, extending to little more than seven pi^es) no Bodoe 
is taken of his position with respect to idealism— -an interesting 
point to those who wish to trace the subsequent course of philo- 
sophical speculation in Germany, as influenced by previoos 
writers. In the famous assertion, nam toyons Umt at Dimty 
there was no doubt an clement tending towards the Pantheistic 
idealism, which, among the later Germans, has been so remark- 
able a feature of speculation. If the reader will look into the 
' Recherche de la Ycrit^,' the ' R^ponse & M. R^is,' and the 
' Conversations Chretiennes,' he will find that Malebranche goes 
so far as to maintain that all spirits, including all souls of men, 
and all bodies, subsist as modi/icatians of tne extension of tAo 
Infinite and Supersensible — ^language almost identical with that 
of Spinoza himself. Indeed, Malcbranche's theoretic idealism 
bore a near resemblance to some of the Pantheistic opinions of 
the Hindus, who, according to Sir William Jones, believed the 
whole creation to be rather an energy than a work— a sort of 
picture exhibited by the Infinite Mind to his creatures. 

We have spoken of Malebranche's theoretic idealism; for 
such it is — 6ince he maintains that the reality of outward olnede 
is not revealed to us by sense, but by inspiration. Male* 
branche's views on ideas would lead as straight to idealism m 
Berkeley's ; but Berkeley boldly avowed that there was no matter 
in the universe. Malebranche admitted its existence, as what he 
thought involved in the Mosaic account of the creation ; though 
when he had thus ^ot matter, he did not know what to do with it. 
His admission of it is an isolated element in his opinions, and 
has nothing to do with his philosophy. Our author again, in hie 
account of Malebranche, shows more of the generality of the 
historian, than of the analysis and discrimination of the metaphy- 
sician ; and this, we are bound to say, we hold to be a somewhat 
characteristic feature of these volumes. 


The author has wisely enabled his readers to judge fbr 
tfaemBelvet of the opinions of Spinoza, by pointing out a con- 
siderable number of passages, in reference, on yarious topics 
of Spinoza's philosophy, as well as by actual quotation of his 
words. These "volumes would have been rendered much more 
Taluable, had tins method been more generally pursued. No 
man has^ perhaps, been regarded in more opposite lights, by. 
different in^viduala^ than Spinosa. Some hare held him up as 
a monster, on account of his Pantheism ; others have lavished on 
him exuberant and inconsistent praise. That he was an amiable 
and worthy man, and a most profound thinker, cannot be 
denied ; but, notwithstanding the passages in his writings which, 
have a theistic, and even devout complexion, there can be no 
doubt that the tendency of his speculations was atheistic Some 
of die later Germans, however, appear almost to have idolized 
him. Gothe was particularly struck with Spinoza's ' boundless 
disinterestedness, and his all-equalizing serenity, and mathemar 
tical precision.' Even Schleiermacher exclaims : ' Offer up with 
me a lock of hair to the holy but despised Spinoza I ' — ^whidx 
makes one think of Soerates ordering a cock to be sacrificed to 
.£8culapius ! Spinoza's opinions have, no doubt, had great 
influence on the course of speculation in Germany, and nave 
contributed not a little to the anti-christian Pantheism which has 
Uiere x^revailed. Leibnitz appears to have had a great horror d 
Spinozism. That Spinoza should ever become a popular author 
in England, there is little fear. The complaints against his 
obscurity are loud and oft-repeated. Jouffiroy, the most candid 
of philosophers, and the most laborious of critics, if not the 
greatest ornament of the modem Eclectic school^ declares that 
all his efforts to understand what Spinoza really meant^ in some 
parts of his writings^ were in vain. * You are very confused, Be- 
nedict Spinoza/ says Voltaire ; ' but are you as dangerous as they 
say ? I maintain not : and my reason is^ that you are very per- 
plexed ; you have written in bad Latin ; and there are not ten 
persons in all Europe who will read you from end to end. 
When is an author dangerous ? When he is read by the idle 
of the Court, and by women.' 

The notice of Leibnitz is too brief and meagre. His doctrine 
of force y which is the key to his monadology, is passed over in 
silence. We object, too, to the discussion of the doctrine of 
Pre-established Sarmantf 9 previously to that of Monadology ; for 
the latter is the key to Leibnitz's entire metaphysical system. 
Mr. Blakey has omitted to say that Leibnitz's monads had no 
influence on each other ; all their appetencies and agencies were 
internal. Why then this apparent harmony and adjustment of 
one thing to another, in the universe ? Because it is all pre- 


established, says Leibnitz. True — ^the mind seems to aflect the 
body, and the body the mind : but the connexion is only appa- 
rent : there is no more reciprocal agency between them, than 
there is between two clocks, each of whose mechanism is quite 
independent of the other, and the one of which should be made to 
strike the hour, while the other pointed to it. This, we remember, 
is Leibnitz's own illustration. An author of Leibnitz's 
should have had a much larger space allotted to him. 

The next commanding name is that of Locke. We haTe 
always thought that the controversy between this ffreat man and 
many of his critics on the subject of ' innate ideas/ owed m great 
deal to mere words. Locke ought, no doubt, to have taken more 
notice than he does of the Cartesian notion of the eUdtaium of 
ideas, factdtatem eliciendi; and not to have argued as thougli 
the disciples of Descartes contended for ideas and propoaitioiis 
existing in the mind at birth. We were glad to find our author 
agreeing with us in his view of this question, and a ti ri bttt iM 
much of the controversy to * the different terms in which bou 
parties express themselves.' He also justly regards Locke as 
underrating the importance of the d priori ideas and truths which 
are the ^ rudiments of all thought and reasoning.' It most be 
conceded to Mr. Blakey, that ^ Locke's language on this topio is 
very unguarded.' Some valuable observations occur here, re* 
specting the criticisms on Locke bv the Bishop of Worcester, 
Cousin, and Dr. Whewell. Our author is of opinion that Locke's 
doctrines have boon misapprehended very much, not only on the 
continent, but a^so in England and in Scotland : but he defers 
the detail of these misapprehensions to subsequent parts of his 
work. On the whole, we think his observations on Locke and 
his opponents highly deserving of attention. We have never 
doubted that all attempts to improve and extend psychological 
science in England, must be based on Locke as the point of 
departure. Locke is a true type of the sound common-sense of 
Englishmen, among whom it is impossible that such vagariea aa 
have turned men's heads in Germany, and turned them in 
different directions, too, can ever become popular. We may 
borrow many a valuable hint from the Germans ; but who th^ 
knows our literature and our science could dream of Ilcgelianism 
ever taking deep root among us ! 

In the third volume are some thirty [lages on Kant — few 
enough for a writer requiring so much detail even for stating 
what he actually says, independently of the next question, what 
he means. It appears to us that oiu* author has not very 
accurately estimated what Kant says in the account which he 

?:ives of the manner in which he was first led to his own 
Mticism of Pure Reason, by the speculations of Uume. We 


cannot afibrd loom for the passase entire, ivhich occurs in the 
ProkgamenaJ^ Kant says, that Hume's remarks on causation 
— ^in which he reduced cause and effect to a mere imaginary 
connexion^ formed in the mind by association — did not by any 
means satisfy him, though he admitted that reason cannot disr- 
eover— irhy, because something is, something else must neces- 
sarily be : m this he acreed that Hume triumphed over some of 
his exponents. Here, men, was one instance in which the mind 
is compdled, some how or other, to think necessary and uniyersal, 
what cannot be pioTed so: e.g. — ^the position, that every change 
most have a cause. Now Kant comphiined of Hume that, acutely 
as he had introduced to the notice of philosophers this problem, 
whidi so obvioasly presents itself in the phenomena of nature — 
he had fidled to state it in all its generality ; as there were other 
conceptions besides that of causation, and other relations besides 
that of cause and effect, which stood precisely in the same pre- 
dicament with regard to the human reason. Kant himself 
undertakes to inquire into these other conceptions and relations 
— ^nay, he professes, ia the 'categories,' to give a perfect 
enumeration of them, in general, as Hume had not done; 
and instead of resolviiu; them, as he thought Hume's principles 
erroneously tended to do, into association or habit, he refers them 
to the subjective constitution of the human mind itsel£ This 
whole inquiry he designates by the question — * haw is knowiedge 
from pure reason posstMe.^ f We do not apprehend that in setting 
forth this view, he had any particular or immediate reference to 
the question of * liberty and necessity,' as our author supposes. 
It is very true that in an advanced part of the ' Kritik der reinen 
Vemunft,* and also in the * Prolegomena', he discourses on liberty 
and necessity, under the * antinomies of reason ;' in which he 
endeavours to show that speculative reason can solve the 
question, without falling into contradictions in attempting 
so to do — and that ' practical reason ' (moral conviction) ia 
also adequate to set at rest scepticism on the head of human 
freedom. The particular and immediate object of Kant in his 
statement respecting Hume was to show, we repeat, that Hume 
had only taken a very partial view of the problem, and had also 
given to it a wrong solution. The whole question respecting 
these truths, which present themselves to reason as necessary and 
universal, he regarded as solved by the principle that our subject 
is capable of * synthetic judgments d priori*^ 

Again, we believe that Kant has nowhere said that * space 
and time are involved in all sensations, however minutely 

• * Seit Locke'8 und Leibnitz'a Versuchen,' w. s. w. EinleUung. 
t * Wie iat Erkeontiiiss aus reiner Vemunft moglich.* Ibtd. 


analjzecL' Kant distinguishes between anschauwiff, or the 
cognizance we take of phenomena, objectively, and eauh- 
Jindungi or our subjective sensation. To the former, be 
attributes extensive; to the latter, intensive magnitude. The 
tooth-ache, from a slight hint to the torture which it would 
be well if metaphysics or any other study could hanhih, is 
what he would call an intensive magnitude — but these sensations, 
however minute or however great, and all others of a like kind, 
do not, in themselves consioered, involve space, though they 
involve time. We regret, too, that we cannot say that tlie 
doctrine of the categories, or that of analytical and synthetical 
judgments, as given in this work, is made intelligible to the 
student who, for the first time, looks into the ELantian philosophy, 
it may be with a deep and almost awful sense of mystery on his 
mind. It is of little use to give a mere dry table, or an abstract 
statement of a few lines, without any illustnitions and ezplanationsy 
even on these fundamental elements of the critical philosophy — 
we may add, too, elements that are certainly among the most 
intelligible in the whole system; nor need the examples have 
taken up much room. 

Our limits will not allow of our pursuing the author through 
the list of names which includes almost all that is really original 
in the metaphysical speculations of the Germans. These names 
are Kant, «Jacobi, Ficbtc, Schclling, Hegel, and HcrbarL In a 
work of such extent, one volume might well have been devoted to 
the most original writers on German philosophy, which is so 
marvellous a phenomenon in the history of tne human mind. 
All, however, that is devoted to the above celebrated names, does 
not amount, when summed up, to more than some seventy-five 
pages ; of which a1)out forty arc distributed among the last five 
names, the rest being given to Kant The consequence is, that 
the account of these writers, not excluding even Kant, will be 
found scanty, confused, and unsatisfactory to the student. This 
part of the work will not bear comparison with Morell*s recent 
work on * Speculative Philosophy,* the German portion of 
which is done with considerable spirit and fidelity; though it 
also much suffers by the want of space; for it b almost hc^- 
less to make German nhilosophy intelligible, so far as it can be 
intelligible to English thinkers, without entering into considerable 
detail and well-constructed illustrations. 

We have not space for Mr. Blakey's criticism of Cousin's 
philosophical system ; but we should not greatly differ from Ills 
estimate. It appears to us, in one word, to be an unsuccessful 
attempt to combine into one svstem heterogeneous elements — 
the ontological hypothesis of Hegel, with the cautious induc- 
tions and the psycnological observations of the Reidean school. It 


is no wonder that such an attempt should be repudiated as it has 
been by Germans ; and that, on the other hand, it should be fiur 
enough from coalescing, naturally, with the spirit of the Scottish 

Consin, however, will always be the historical head of the 
new Eclectic schooL Never, perhaps, before, was a professor of 
philosophy so popular as Cousin was, at one time, in Paris. He 
rivalled, at least, the most popular of preachers, in the audiences 
he drew to hear him lecture on a theme proverbially dry and 
abstract; but which he adorned with the greatest felicity of 
langui^. Some two thousand students hung on his lips ; and 
so intense was the curiosity, throughout France, to know what 
he said, that the political journals found it more profitable, for a 
season, to leave politics to swell and ferment, like the sea itself 
without any attempt to control them ; and rather to publish, at 
full length, the certainly very eloquent periods of the fortunate 
student, whom philosophy made a Peer of France; and who, for 
once, reversed the words of Petrarch : 

* Povera e nuda vai filosofia; 
Pochl compagni avrai per la taa via.' 

No instance of such popular devotion to such a subject could 
have taken place, proDably, in any country but France; nor 
even there, but under the peculiar moral and educational struggles 
which have characterised academical education in that country. 
We quote for our readers a very short specimen of the kind of 
eloquence which brought together such lame Parisian audiences. 
An improvement in the public taste would, at least, appear to 
have been effected since the Atheistic times of the great Revo- 
lution ; though the language has a Pantheistic sense, which, how- 
ever, it is but fair to say, M. Cousin himself repudiates. But 
what would any English audience have thought of the following 
passage ? — 

* The God of consciousness Is not an abstract being, a solitary 
king, reigning beyond the bounds of creation, upon a desert 
throne of eternal silence, and passing an absolute existence 
amidst surrounding nothingness, ^e is a God at once true and 
real, at once substance and cause ; always substance and always 
cause, and cause only as a substance ; that is to say, being absolute 
cause, one and many, time and eternity, space and number, 
essence and life, individuality and totality ; in fine, at once God, 
Nature, and Humanity. Indeed, if the Deity be not all, he is 
nothing; if he be absolutely indivisible in himself, he must be 
inaccessible, and consequently incomprehensible.'* 

• Fragments, 1. 76. 


The work is dedicated, by pennissioD, to Prince Albert It 
appears to have cost the author little less than twenty yean of 
intermitted labour; and is, with becoming modesty, sent forth to 
the public. It contains an immense mass of information ; and 
there is nothing comparable to it, for extent, to be found in our 
literature. We cannot pronounce the work to be characteriied 
by that high analytical power which marks many of our modem 
authors on psychology, both originally and as historians: witness 
Dr. Thomas IJrown, and Cousin, for instance. Indeed, Mr. 
Blakey, unfortunately, as we think, for a metaphysician, appean 
repeatedly rather to depreciate the talent for acute analysts, than 
to cultivate it or to admire it. But, on the whole, the work is a 
valuable contribution to our literature ; and perhaps it is mofe 
calculated to excite a taste for the subject among certain classes 
of readers, than one of profounder analysis and of a more rigidly 
scientific character. One strong recommendation of it we must 
not omit: it is evidently the work of one who is a cordial believer 
in Christianity, and who is always prominently on the side of 
piety, humanity, and the real advancement of mankind in every 
thing that is great and good. 

Art. IV. — An Easier Offering. By Fredrika Bremer. Translated 
from the Swedish, by Mary Howitt London : Gotbazn. 

In this little volume Miss Bremer has combined one of her 
cheerful and humanizing stories, and a sketch of life in 
Denmark, where, shortly before her voyage to America, she 
made a considerable sojourn. It is principally for the sake of 
the latter article that we bring the volume under the notice of 
our readers. The story, which occupies only about one-third of 
the volume, is of the simplest kind. It is intended to show tbe 
effect of an isolated place of abode on the human mind ; and thia 
effect is tested by tne insensible, but melancholy change whkli 
has stolen over an attached and virtuous couple whose lot his 
been cast in such a spot 

Axel 6m, a young man appointed to a government poit on 
the wild western coast of Sweden, has brought his young bride 
thither. She is from the city— -young, gay, accustooied to 
society; yet amiable, affectionate, and imaginative. She n at 
first delighted with her wild and picturesque home, and tbe 


brilliant splendoars of the lonely light-house on the clifis near 
it, whence the story derives its name. 

' It was among the cliffs beside the sea. It was on the western 
coast of Sweden, among the sea-rocks of Bohuslan. I do not say 
exactly where it stood, becaiise that is unnecessary. But it was a long 
way from the home of Ellina's childhood, and very unlike its beautiful 
dales. There were orchards and nightingales ; here, merely an 
archipelago of naked, grey clifis, and around them that restless 
sea, that roaring Cattegat. Such, for the greater part, is the rocky 
shore of Bohuslan. Many people think scenery of this kind un- 
{ilcasing, horrible, repulsive. I love it ; and it is to me more attrac- 
tive, more agreeable, than scenery of real softness and verdure — than 
that of a cultivated and fertile character, which may be found every- 
where.' — P. 13. 

And so it at first delighted the young bride ; and truly the 
place had its wild charms : — 

' The wild sea-rocks of Bohuslan have their mysteries. They 
resemble those humau characters which are outwardly hard and 
rough, but within them lie hidden valleys, lovely and fruitful. Make 
a closer acquaintance with the granite islands, and thou wilt scarcely 
find one amongst them which does not possess its grassy spots — ^its 
beautiful, flowery" fields. These grey cliffii draw in the beams of the 
sun, and long retain their warmth within their granite breasts. They 
commimicate them to the earth which lies at their feet, and within 
their embrace, and the organic life blooms luxuriantly thereupon. In 
wild abimdance springs up the honeysuckle from every cleft of the 
rocks, and flings, with the shoots of the blackberry, its delicate 
blossoming arms around the mossy blocks of stone, converting them 
into beautiful monuments on the graves of the Vikings. Beds of 
irises and wild roses bloom beautifully in the bosom of the granite 
rocks ; and up aloft, on the cool height of the hills, where only the 
wild goat and the sea-bird set their feet, small white and yellow 
flowers nod in the wind, above the breakers of the Cattegat, which 
foam at their feet. Upon the smallest of these cliffs the sheep find 
wholesome herbage, and thrive upon it ; and upon the largest, in the 
midst of the granite fastnesses, may be seen an Eden, planted with 
roses and lilies, where a son of Adam, with his Eve, live, separated 
from the world, silently and — ^hapx>ily. We will believe so. But things 
go on queerly in these quiet, secluded Edens. It did not go on very 
well in the oldest, that we know ; and in those of later days, but very 
little better— as £aur, at least, as the human beings are concerned. 
Generally speaking, life upon a solitary island is not very beneficial. 
The uniformity in the surrounding circmnstances ; the monotony of 
the days, in which ever recur the same impressions, the same occupa- 
tions; ihe want of employment, of active thought, and of living 
diversions; cause the soul, as it were, to grow inward, and the 
feelings and the thoughts to collect themselves around certain circum- 
scribe points, and to grow firmly to them. We see this in Iceland, 


and its formerly powerful race : how the slightest misimdentaiidiiig 
gave birth to quarrels, how quarrels grew into hatred, and hatred to 
burning and bloodshed — and all this from the monotonous pressure of 
time, and the recurrence of the same bitter billow-stroke against tbe 
heart We see it in the Faroe Isles — ^in those quiet, insane figuns 
which wander about among the rocks and the mist For if miifivtune 
and adversity come, and the human being has no place to flee to when 
he can disperse their impressions — no place to go to from these miiti 
and these dark clifls — ^his understanding must at length beooni 
clouded.* — P. 15. 

Our Adam and Eve^ on this lonely coast, do not escape the 
effect of these influences. They are presented to ns in after- 
life, when the want of objects to divert, and to give a living 
stimulus to their spirits, had made them discontented, and evet*^ 
doubtful of each other's affections. From this wretched conditioi^ 
they are, however, awakened to a kind of new sprint of life ; «n^ 
the manner in which this is brought about is in Miss Bremer*"^ 
happiest vein, leaving the reader once more in love with th^ 
place and the people. 

But, as we have said, we regard the second portion of thr 
volume, entitled, ^Life in the North,' but, literally, life in 
Denmark, as of higher interest, especially at the present time. 
The part which Denmark has lately been called on to plftj, in 
defence of its territory of Schleswig-Holstein against Germany, 
and the spirit and bravery with which it has done this, give jntt 
now a peculiar interest to any account of the condition of that 
small but vigorous kingdom — social, moral, and political — ^whick 
comes from a safe source. We are, therefore, glad to have it 
in our power to present such a statement from a pen so well 
known and so impartial as that of Frcdrika Bremer. She sets 
out by remarking on the great spirit of change which is manifest 
throughout the civilized world ; and assures us that, though lea 
rapid in its operations, this spirit is not the less alive in DenmarL 
Her general impression of the country and people is highly 

The social changes are first introduced. We have here a 
beautiful picture : — 

'On Christmas Eve, 1848, a chill and cloudy winter*8 evening, I 
found mvself in Copenhagen, in a largo hall, where more than a hun- 
dred children, boys and girls, sang, danced, and made a joyous clamour, 
around a lofty Christmas-trce, glittering with lights, flowen. fruits, 
cakes, and sweetmeats, up to the vcrv ceding. 

* But brighter than the lights in the tree shone the gladness in the 
eyes of the children, and the bloom on their fresh countenances. A 
handsome, portly, middle-aged lady in black went round amongst the 
children, with a motherly grace, examining their work in sewing and 


handicraft arts, encouraging and rewarding them in an affectionate 
manner. The children pressed round her, and looked up to her — all 
seeming to love, none to fear her. 

* It was a charity-school in which I found myself; it was Denmark's 
motherly, but childless Queen, Carolina Amalia, whom I here saw sur- 
rounded by poor children, whom she had made her own. It was a 
beautiful scene, and what I saw was also the image of a life — a move- 
ment which, at this time, extends through the whole social life of the 
North. It IB the womanly, the motherly movement in society, expand- 
ing itself to the comprehension of a wider circle, to the care of the 
whole race of children, beyond the limits of home, to the enfranchise- 
ment, the elevation, of all neglected infancy. It is the maternal advance 
from the individual life into the general, to the erection of a new home. 
The asylum is its expanded embrace, and the Christian love makes 
restitution for the injustice of fortime ; here the child seems to escape 
from the faults and the calamities of its parents, to be preserved for 
society at large, and to be ediicated for its benefit. Silently pro- 
ceeds tha maternal power to give a new birth to the human race 
in its earliest years. And we rely on this power more than upon any 
other on earUi, for the accomplishment of this work, if such a new 
birth is really to take place. And that the women of the North more 
clearly seem to accept this mission — and that the Queens of the 
North, Carolina Amalia, of Denmark, and Josephina, of Sweden, march 
at the head of this maternal movement — ^it is only a duty to acknowledge. 
Nor do these ladies confine themselves to the care of childhood ; they 
extend their beneficent activity through a variety of channels to the 
children of misfortune ; to the solitary, the sick, the old and neglected 
in society, who are sought out and assisted, or consoled by the more 
fortunate. One of the most actively useful societies in Copenhagen, is 
the " Female Association of Nurses," under the patronage of the Queen, 
and the management of the chief house-stewardess, the universally 
respected Mrs. Rosenorn. Blessed is maternal help in the huts of the 
needy, but still more blessed is the intellectual result which is effected 
by the personal, affectionate sympathy of the rich, whether in intellec- 
tual or worldly wealth, for the poor in want.' — Pp. 101 — 106. 

We are glad to see that this benevolence of the ladies is not 
without its parallel amongst the gentlemen. Copenhagen does 
not want its Lord Ashleys in the persons of the veneraoie Mini- 
ster of State, Collin — in Mr. Drewsen, Mr. Von Osten, Mr. Brink 
Seidelin, and others : — 

• About thirty years ago, there swarmed in the streets of Copenhagen, 
a multitude of lads from ten to fifteen years of age, like that still 
greater number in Stockholm, who are called HamnSusar^ or Harbour- 
raggamuffins — a repulsive race, in filthy garments, and with wild, 
thievish eyes ; the children of crime and misery, and growing up in 
an wickemiess, for ever on the watch for robbery and mischief. A 
government officer, who about that time received a post in the police, 
Mr. A. Drewsen, was struck by the prevalence of this class, laid it to 



heart, and, with other similarly disposed and philanthropic men, found 
a plan to extirpate this growing evil hy a thorough and searching 
remedy. When he had matured his scheme, he called on his fellow- 
citizens for assistance. He did not call in vain. Liheral subscriptions 
flowed in i^om all sides ; and by their means the young criminals were 
speedily removed from the capital to the remote provinces, where they 
were placed in good and orderly familes, chiefly those of farmeit. 
Transplanted into a rich soil, the young shoots of vice almost wkoOj 
changed their nature, and became good and serviceable memben of 
society ; while ever since this period the amount of crime in the capital 
has signally decreased. Very rarely, now, is the eye or the aiad 
shocked in the streets of Copenhagen by the sight of mfflidiMtf^ 
children.*— P. 106. 

Turning from the social improyements. Miss Bremer pjresestt 
us with a picture of the bustle in the streets of Copeiihagen» 
especially in the street called the Oestergade, to which, curiously 
enough, not even the throng of the Strand, or of Chcapside» 
seemed to her to be compared. But a still more agreeable con' 
templation than the external activity of the Danish capital, is that 
of its religious and intellectual life. Our authoress represents 
the new life of the North as pervading every department of mind 
and society. She had heard that she would find the theatres iiill 
and the churches empty, and that but little edification was to be 
found in the places of worship. She assures us that it was 
quite otherwise. The churches were filled with people, and she 
heard in them discourses excellent as well on account of their 
living doctrine as of their admirable delivery. But formerly, 
and not long since cither, the case was different. The religious 
life of Denmark seemed an extinguished flame, and its theoloffy 
lay bound in narrow forms ; the teachers lacking spirit and tne 
hearers devotion. Much of this auspicious change sne attributes 
to the zeal and talent of Bishop Mynster, and to the pastor 
Grundtvig. In the commencement of the present century, these 
popular preachers infused a new spirit into their hearers. They 
proclaimed, with fervour of conviction and the freshness o£ 

Senius, the old, eternally new doctrines of the religion of loye. 
f ynster was scientific, narmonious, explicit ; Grundtvig, a toI- 
canic nature, with all the spirit and power of the old propheta. 
Mynstcr's spiritual discourses soon spread from Denmark to 
Sweden and Norway. Grundtvig wrote hymns, like thoae of 
Ingcman and Boie, giying new life to the church-music of 
Denmark. To these succeeded many remarkable Christian 
thinkers and pastors ; yet far before them all stood these two— 
Mynster with the fire of youth beneath his snow-white hair, and 
Grundtvig casting fiery glances over the depths of immortal life. 
Bishops Mynster, Martensen, and Pauli, Miss Bremer regards as 


Christian teachers, whom no one can hear without admiration 
and delight, and in Vartou, the church in which Sev. Grundtvig 
preaches with power, every Sunday may be heard singing, often 
to the old popular melodies, which proves that the people are 
in heart ' a congregation.' 

The same breath of a new life which has thus regenerated 
the social and the religious system, has been breathed over the 
world of intellect and of taste with equally creative energy. In 
every department of art, science, and literature, Denmark has 
beheld in the present century, a race of such men spring up as 
she never possessed before. This part of Miss Bremer's volume 
will be perused with peculiar interest, for it introduces us to a 
number of celebrated persons of whom little is known to us 
in England, and who yet ought to be known to all well-informed 
minds. We can avail ourselves only of Miss Bremer's graphic 
reriew of these things and characters, so far as to name a few of 
the most prominent artists, literati, and philosophers. 

Towards the end of the eighteenth century appeared Evald, 
Ae religious poet — Wessel and Baggesen, the humorous ones. 
But it was not till the nineteenth century that the self- 
consciousness of the people, as well as art itself, had their full 
development. Then came Henry SteflFens, full of genius and 
eloquence ; and then Adam Oemenschlager, their great tragic 
poet, who died only during the present year, having not long 
ago published his heroic poem, * Regner Lodbrok.' Still more 
popular even than Oehlenschlager, is Ingeman, the author of 

* Holger the Dane ;' for his historical romances have been 
seized on with avidity by the people, and have inspired a 
charmed patriotism into the very peasantry. Herz, known in 
this country by his ' King R^n^'s Daughter ;' Hauch, a natural 
philosopher and poet ; Paludan MoUer, author of the epic poem, 
' Adam Homo ;' Christian Winter, who sings the idyllian coun- 
try-life of Denmark ; Heiberg, the critic and novelist ; and Hans 
Cnristian Andersen, so well known in England ; are all held in 
great esteem in their native land. 

In sculpture, besides Thorwaldsen, the Danes reckon amongst 
their greatest artists Jericho and Bissen, both men of strong and 
original powers. The former is celebrated for his * Christ,' his 

* ^gel of the Resurrection,' and his group of ' Adam and Eve ;' 
the latter, for his gods and heroes of tne Northern mythology. 

In painting, Denmark has a young and promising school of 
artists, who seek to express the truth of nature, and especially 
as it presents itself in their native land. We can only name the 
chief of them, without distinguishing their peculiar walks. 
They are Marstrand, Simonsen, Sonne, Schleisner, Monnier, 
Mdby, Sorensen, Skovgaard,Kierskow, Rump, Jensen, Ottensen, 



Gaertner^ Schiitz, and a daughter of Poland, now Mrs. Jericho, 
who has produced her best works in Denmark. 

In music, Hartman, Bong, and Gade, stand pre-eminent. 

Amongst the scientific men of Denmark stand prominendj 
the two brothers Oersted. A. S. Oersted, the lawyer, has done 
much to remodel the legislative system of the country; bat 
H. C. Oersted is the inventor of the electric telegraphy which lutf 
conferred a new and wonderful power on the world. His moflt 
celebrated work has a name which it is difficult to translate into 
English. It is, ' Kundskapseverens Vasens-enhet i det hele 
Verldens-allt ;' which the Germans have translated into * Ueber 
die Wisseneinheit des Erkentniss-Vermogens im ganzen WeltalL* 
Perhaps the nearest we can approach to its meaning is, by ' The 
Universal Identity of the Perceptive Faculty.' The object is to 
demonstrate that there is nothing discovered in the whol^ 
world which is entirely foreign to human reason, and to the ^xmf^ 
which are required for the government of the universe; aiM^ 
that the human being is a central thought in the universe. It v^ 
a work which ought not to be unknown either to philosopher^^ 
or poet. His disciple, Forchammer, has thrown much light on 
geology ; and Worsasc, a young man, on the antiquities of the 
country. Professor Schouw is distinguished in botany, and for 
his ' Language of Botany.' Bang, Trier, and Stein take hi^ 
rank as physicians ; and, in intellectual philosophy, Ch. F. 
Sibbern, in his * Letters of Gabriel,' Martensen, and Sdren Kier- 
kegaard, arc the most distinguished — and first among them is 
Sibbern, with his * Psychological Pathology.' His philosophy, 
and the same may be said of that of nearly all the great men of 
Denmark, is totally opposed to the German schools of Hegel and 
Fichte. It is imbued with a profound and living Christianity. 

In political development, the Scandinavian North does not 
stand behind the rest of the world. We have heard of no revo- 
lutions there, precisely because they are not wanted; because they 
are superseded by a progressive change. In fact, the Scandina- 
vians rather t^ke the precedence of the lively people of the 
South. They have learned to distrust physical violence, and to 
rely on the force of reason. The freedom of the people^ is an old 
idea up in the North. Its sovereignty was first acknowledged 
in Sweden, later in Norway, latest in Denmark, but there it is 
most supreme. The political evolution, without revolationy 
which has lately arrived in Denmark, and which has changed the 
government from an absolute to a constitutional monarchy, baaed 
on democratical principles, has roots which strike badL into 
remote times. We revert with hope to the oldest history of 
the North, and that prophecy which is contained in the first ^h 
pearance of the first settlers there under the powerful 


of the Ajsama^ and to the people's yolantanr homage to their 
saperior wisdom. The sentiment is wonderfuUy strengthened by 
that of domestic life and oihame. This feeling which has always 
been strong there^ has of late extended itself, by the exchange of 
literature, throughoat all Scandinavia. The different peoples find 
and feel themselves of one race ; having the same common ances- 
tiy^ the same sacred traditions^ the same tastes and feelings. The 
kindred peoples of the North seem to be called upon by character 
and history^ as well as by the development of the nations^ to set 
an example to other people, by a noble, powerful, and indepen- 
dent life. This feeling has been immensely strengthened by the 
recent attack on Denmark by the German revolutionary Parlia- 
ment. The effect of this has been to arouse the spirit of Denmark 
in a wonderful degree, and to quicken the sense of Scandinavian 
unity. As this war has excited a strong feeling in England, the 
account given by Miss Bremer of the effect there on the public 
mind, as it went on, will be read with interest. We give it ex- 
actly as it stands ; and with that close our notice of these papers, 
which offer us more knowledge of the actual state and progress of 
Denmark than anything we have had for a long time : — 

* June 1st — Spring is now in full bloom, and advances towards mid- 
sommer. The islands of Denmark have put on their glorious attire. 
The beech woods murmur by the blue rocks. The groves are become 
vocal. The stork is arrived ; the meadows are in bloom ; the labumam 
streams in the \^ind. But there arises no joyful song of hiunan voices 
from the friendly islands. Tears, bitter tears, mothers' tears, brides', 
sisters' tears, fall upon the beautiful, flower-clad earth. Ah ! war has 
broke out anew, 2ind m2iny sons of the country have fallen, and stiU 
fall, in the hopeless combat against a conquering, superior force. A 
little band of men stands fighting against a host composed of their own 
number many times multiplied ; one million against thirty millions. 
How can there be any hope ? And yet — wonderful, but true ! — there is, 
no doubt, no de8j)ondency, in that little band. Such firm faith have they 
in their own righteous cause, and in the righteous arbitration of the 
people's fate. 

' Nothing C2in more truly characterise the temper and disposition of 
the Danish people, than the effect which has been produced by that 
unfortunate aflair at Eckemforde. The tidings of this reached Copen- 
hagen on Easter Eve. What a murmur of sorrowful disquiet there was 
that evening in the city, especially in the neighbourhood of the post- 
house. Sorrow and amazement were upon every countenance. People 
talked to each other without the ceremony of introduction ; high and 
low communicated to each other what they thought, and wept together. 
It was as if every family had lost a child. On Easter Sunday people 
streamed into the churches. The preachers spoke publicly from the 
pulpits of the great misfortune which had occurred, lamenting, com- 
forting, and encouraging. The immortal theme of death and the 
resurrection had a new and an irresistible significance. The people 


listened and wept. It was like a day of humiliation in laraeL Tbe 
misfortune of the fatherland was the misfortime of every indiTidual. 
The hlow which had struck the maritime power of Denmark, struck 
the silent pride and hope of every heart. I saw young girls shed 
tears, not for the dead, but for " our banner — for Dannebrog ! '• 

' That was Easter Sunday. On Easter Monday it was silent in the 
gay Copenhagen. The theatres were closed ; the dejected attendants 
spoke in whispers ; nothing was to be heard but sighs, and talking about 
broken hearts of wives and brides ! That was the second day. On tlvt 
third, life again raised itself with strength. Volunteer sauon came 
by hundreds ; came, singing, to offer themselves in the place of thoee 
who at Eckemforde had fallen, either by death or into the hands of the 
enemy. Contributions of money flowed in from all sides, for a new 
preparation for war ; for the families of the killed and wounded. The 
rich gave abundantly of their wealth ; the poor widow gave her mite ; 
and the mothers — ^beautiful to say— encouraged their sons to go and 
fight for the fatherland. 

' A few days later, and the public mind was again calm and coU 
lected, and the theatres were again full of people. But all hearts « 
all noble feelings, seemed to have opened their fountains for a more 
abundant flow. The Danish people were now only one great family, 
who, in the day of sorrow, drew nearer together, to comfort and to 
support each other. We will hero permit ourselves to introduce a 
little trait which will show the feeling of these days. 

* Amongst the many who were named in the newspapers as having 
fallen at Eckemforde, was a young man who had really not fallen, 
but had saved himself, in an almost miracidous manner, and now 
returned to Copenhagen, and to his home there. His mother and 
sisters sate in their mourning, which they had just prepared, when all 
at once the lost son and brother stood amongst them ! The mother 
must have died for joy at this moment, had not a strong, secret 
persuasion possessed her mind that her son lived, and thus she was 
prepared for this surprise. 

* The news of this circumstance went like wild-fire through Copen- 
hagen. People rushed from house to house, into the co£fee-houaes« 
and to the news-rooms, to announce it. AU were glad; all rejoiced, 
as if they had recovered a beloved brother. Tears of joy and 
sympathy fell from all eyes. People began to hope that other ftdlen 
ones might likewise arise and return. Strangers to the happy family 
hastened to them to express their joy and their sympathy, and to 
embrace him who had returned. The whole city was one family of 

* Days, weeks, months, have passed since this, and the war continues. 
Countenances grow dark, and tne foe goes on conquering. 

*' But quiet and firm stands the little nation, determined to dare the 
utmost, and to fight to the last drop of blood. There is now no song 
of rejoicing upon the beautiful islands, neither is there any lamentation. 
They make themselves ready for new cfibrts, for new sacrifices. 
There is a strong will, a good courage, and a great juitience, in the 
Danish people at this time. No one can see it without emotion, or 


without admiration. And therefore — friendly islands, enchanting 
islands ! — ^whether t^ars shall still longer fall upon your soil, whether 
the enemy shall suck your marrow, and the trial become severer — 
friendly islands, beloved are 3rou still ! There is an honour, a victory, 
an immortality, which every people, as well as every man, can acquire 
for himself, even when apparently it is' subject to an outward, superior 
power. And therefore, tears of Denmark's daughters ! fail — ^fall still, 
if it must be so ! The soil which you water is the soil of the hero, and 
that noble sorrow the mother of a noble joy. You shall live to see 
that wluch was sown in bitterness bearing the sheaves of a noble 
harvest, and your beloved Dannebrog waving in joy over the waters of 
Denmark, over the blue billows. When the life of a people is what it 
is here at this time, then it awakes its genius, then it is near with 
saving power. The genius of DenmariL has said : — 

* When life blooms forth in the heart of the Dane, 
When its song the People raises, 
Then, bright as the sim do I live again. 

And the poets sing my praises. 
My name is known to the toiling hind; 

I embrace him with exultation ; 
With jo^ mv life thus renewed I find, — 

I live in the soul of the nation. 
Thou knowest, peasant ! I am not dead : 

I come beck to thee in my glory ! 
I am thy fiutfafbl hdper in need, 
As in Dennuu^'s ancient story. 

IngemaWs Holder Hhe Dane* 
—Pp. 2W, 210. 

Scarcely had Miss Bremer written this when the news of the 
victory oi Fredericia arrived, and inspired universal confidence. 
Still, ^e troubles of Denmark are not completely over in Holstein. 
She has much of the sympathies of Europe, and we think no 
one reads the extracts we have given, without feeling that she 
deserves it ; and at the same time that Denmark (the smallest 
kingdom in Europe) has stood boldly for her rights against the 
assumptions of Germany, and will stand firm and undaunted to 
the last. It is the interest of Europe that she should do so, and 
that every possible strength should be preserved to Scandivania 
as a bulwark against the encroaching spirit of Russia. 


AsT. Y. -^Poetical Works of WiUum Wordtworik. London : Edwtfd 


In a late article on Southev^ we alluded to the solitary petition 
of Wordsworlli in that lake country where he once shone the 
brightest star in a large galaxy. Since then, the star of JoTeyio 
beautiful and large, has gone out in darkness — the grestait 
laureate of England has expired — ^the intensest, most uniqn^ 
and most pure-minded of our poets, with the single exceptiODi 
of Milton and Cowper, is departed. And it were lesemqei^ 
against his mighty shade not to pay it our tribute, while yet hii 
memory, and tne grass of his grave, are green. ^ 

It is singular that only a few months have elwsed since tbc 
great antagonist of his literary feme — Lord Jefiey (who, wc 
understand, persisted to the last in his ungenerous and unjuit 
estimate), left the bench of human, to appear at the bar of Divise 
justice. Seldom has the death of a celebrated man produced • 
more powerful impression in his own city and circle, and a less 
powerful impression on the wide horizon of the world. In truth, 
he had outlived himself It had been very different had he 
passed away thirty years ago, when the ' Edinburgh Bericw ' 
was in the plenitude of its influence. As it was, he disappeared 
like a star at midnight, whose descent is almost unnoticed while 
the whole heavens arc white with glory, not like a sun going 
down, that night may come over the earth. One of the acutest, 
most accomplished, most warm-hearted and generous of men, 
Jeffrey wanted that stamp of universality, that highest order of 
genius, that depth of insight and that simple directness of 
purpose, not to speak of that moral and religious consecration, 
which ' give the world assurance of a man.' He was the idol 
of Edinburgh, and the pride of Scotland, because he condensed 
in himself those qualities which the modem Athens has long 
been accustomed to covet and admire — taste and talent rather 
than genius — subtlety of appreciation rather than power of 
origination — the logical understanding rather than the inventive 
insight — and because his name had sounded out to the ends of 
the earth. Ihit nature and man, not Edinburgh Castle, or the 
Grampian Hills merely, might be summoned to mourn in 
Wordsworth's departure the loss of one of their truest high- 
priests, who had gazed into some of the deepest secrets of the 
one, and echoed some of the loftiest aspirations of the other. 

To soften such grief, however, there comes in the reflection, 
that the task of this great poet had been nobly discharged. He 


had given the world assurance^ full^ and heaped, and running 
over, of what he meant, and of what was meant by him. While 
the premature departure of a SchiUer, a Bjrron, or a Keats, gives 
us esiotions similar to those wherewith we would behold the 
crescent moon, snatched awa;^ as b^ some ' insatiate archer,' up 
into the Infinite, ere it grew into its full glory — ^Wordsworth, 
like Scott, Goethe, and Southey, was permitted to fill his full 
and broad sphere. 

What Wordsworth's mission was, may be, perhaps, understood 
through some previous remarks upon his great mistress — ^Nature, 
as a poetical personage. 

Hiere are three methods of contemplating nature. These are, 
the material, the shadowy, and the mediatorial. The mate- 
rialist looks upon it as the great and only reality. It is a vast 
solid iact, for ever burning and rolling around, below and above 
him. The idealist, on the contrary, regards it as a shadow — a 
mode of mind— the infinite projection of his own thought. The 
man who stands between the two extremes, looks on nature as a 
great, but not ultimate or everlasting scheme of mediation, or 
compromise, between pure and absolute spirit and humanity — 
adumbrating God to man, and bringing man near to God. To 
the materialist, there is an altar, star-lighted heaven-high, but no 
God. To the idealist, there is a God, but no altar. He who 
holds the theory of mediation, has the Great Spirit as his God, 
and the universe as the altar on which he presents the gift of 
his poetical (we do not speak at present so much of his theolo- 
gical) adoration. 

It must be obvious, at once, which of those three views of 
nature is the most poetical. It is surely that which keeps the 
two principles of spirit and matter distinct and unconfounded — 
preserves in their proper relations — the soul and the body of 
things — God within, and without the garment by which, in 
Goethe's grand thought, ' we see him by.' While one party 
deify, and another destroy matter, the third impregnate, without 
identifying, it with the Divine presence. 

The notions suggested by this view, which is that of scripture, 
are exceedingly comprehensive and magnificent. Nature becomes 
to the poet's eye ' a great sheet let dovmfrom God out of heaven^ 
and in which there is no object ' common or unclean.' The 
purpose and the Being above cast such a grandeur over the 
pettiest or barest objects as did the fiery pillar upon the sand or 
the shrubs of the nowling desert of its march. Everything 
becomes valuable when looked upon as a communication from 
God, imperfect only from the nature of the material used. What 
otherwise might have been concluded discords, now appear only 
stammerings or whisperings in the Divine voice; thorns and 


thistles spring aboye the primeral cane, the 'meaneBt flower that 
blows ' gires 

' Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.' 

The creation is neither nndoly exalted nor contemptaooslj 
trampled under-foot, but maintains its dignified position, is an 
ambassador from the Divine Kin^. The glorj of something &r 
beyond association — ^that of a divme and perpetual presence— » 
shed over the landscape, and its golden-drops are spilled upon 
the stars. Objects the most diverse — the cradle of the child, the 
wet hole of the centipede, the bed of the corpse, and the lair 
of the earthquake, the nest of the lark, and the crag on which 
sits, half asleep, the dark vulture, digesting blood*— are all clothed 
in a light the same in kind, though var3ring in dqpree— 

' A light which never was on sea or shore.' 

In the poetry of the Hebrews, accordingly, the locusts ais 
God's ^ great army ;' — the winds are his messenffers, the thundeC 
his voice, the lightning a 'fiery stream going oefore him/ the 
moon his witness in the heavens, the sun a strong man rejoiciitf 
to run his race — all creation is roused and startled into life 
through him — its every beautiful, or dire, or strange shape in the 
earth or the sky, is God's moveable tent ; the place wneret fiir 
a season, his honour, his beauty, his strength, and his justice 
dwell — the tenant not degraded, and inconceivable dignity being 
added to the abode. 

His mere ' tent,' however — for while the great and the infinite 
are thus connected with the little and the finite, the subordinaticMi 
of the latter to the former is always maintained. The most 
magnificent objects in nature arc but Uie mirrors to God's fine — 
the scaffolding to his future purposes ; and, like mirrors, are to 
wax dim ; and, like scaffolding, to be removed. The great sheet 
is to be received up again into heaven. The heavens and the 
earth are to pass away, and to bo succeeded, if not by a purely 
mental economy, yet by one of a more spiritual materialism, com* 
pared to which the former shall no more be remembered, neither 
come into mind. Those frightful and fantastic forms of animatfJ 
life, through which God's glory seems to shine with a strunle, 
and but raintly, shall disappear — ^nay, the worlds which bore, 
and sheltered them in their rugged dens and caves, shall flee 
from the face of the regenerator. ' A milder day* is to dawn on 
the universe — ^the refinement of matter is to keep pace with the 
elevation of mind. Evil and sin are to be eternally banished to 
some Siberia of space. The word of the poet is to be fulfilled — 

* And one eternal spring encircles all !' 


The mediatonid purpose of creation, folly subserved^ is to be 
abandoned, that we may see ^ eye to eye,' and that God may be 
' aU in alL' 

That such yiews of matter-— its present ministry — ^the source of 
its beauty and glory — and its future destiny, transferred &om the 
pages of both Testaments to those of our great moral and reli- 
gious poets, haye deepened some of their profoundest, and swelled 
some of their highest, strains, is unquestionable. Such prospects 
as were in Milton's eye, when he simg — 

* Thy Saviour and thy Lord 
Last in the clouds from heaven to be revealed, 
In glory of the Father to dissolve 
Satan with his perverted world ; then raise 
From the confUigrant mass, purged and refined. 
New heavens, new earth, ages of endless date,'— - 

may be found in Thomson, in his closing Hymn to the Seasons, — 
in Coleridge's ' Religious Musings' (in Shelley's ' Prometheus' 
even, but perverted and disguised), in BaUey s ' Festus' (cum- 
bered and entangled with his religious theory) ; and more rootedly, 
although less theologically, than in all the rest, in the poetry of 

The secret of Wordsworth's profoimd and peculiar love for 
Nature, even in her meaner and minuter forms, may lie, 
perhaps, here. De Quincey seeks for it in a peculiar conrorma- 
tion of the eye, as if he actually did see more in the object than 
other men — in the rose a richer red, in the sky a deeper azure, 
in the broom a yellower gold, in the suja a more dazzling ray, in 
the sea a finer foam, and in the star a more sparkling splendour 
than even Nature's own ' sweet and cunning' hand put on ; but 
the critic has not sought to explain the rationale of this peculiarity. 
Mere acuteness of vision it cannot have been, else the eagle 
might have feUy though not written, ' The Excursion' — else 
the fact is not accountable why many of weak sight, such as 
Burke, have been rapturous admirers of Nature ; and so, till 
we learn that Mr. De Quincey has looked through Words- 
worth's eyes, we must call this a mere fancy. Hazlitt again, and 
others since, have accounted for the phenomenon by association 
— ^but this fails, we suspect, fully to explain the deep, native, 
and brooding passion in question — a passion which, instead of 
being swelled by the associations of after life, rose to full stature 
in youth, as * Tintem Abbey' testifies. One word of his own, 
perhaps, better solves the mystery — it is the one word ' conse- 
cration ' — 

' The comecraiion and the poet's dream." 

His eye had been anointed with eye-salve, and he saw, as his 


poet-predecessors had done, the temple in which he was standing, 
heard in every breeze and ocean billow the sound of a temple- 
service, and felt that the grandeur of the ritual, and of its reci- 
pient, direw the shadow of their greatness upon every stone in 
the corners of the edifice, and upon every eft crawling along its 
floors. Reversing the miracle, he saw ' trees as men walking' — 
heard the speechless sing, and, in the beautiful thought of * the 
Boman,' caught on his ear the fragments of a ' divine soliloquy,' 
filling up the pauses in a universal anthem. Hence the tumul- 
tuous, yet awful joy of his youthful feelings to Nature. Hence 
his estimation of its lowliest features; for does not every bush and 
tree appear to him a ' pillar in the temple of his God ?' The 
leaping fish pleases him, because its ^ cheer' in the lonely tarn 
is of praise. The dropping of the earth on the coffin lid is a slow 
and solemn psalm, mingling in austere sympathy with the raven's 
croak, and in his ' Power of sound' he proceeds elaborately to 
condense all those varied voices, high or low, soft or harsh, 
united or discordant, into one crushing chorus, like the choruses 
of Haydn, or of heaven. Nature undergoes no outward change 
to his eye, but undergoes a far deeper transfiguration to his spirit 
— as she stands up in the white robes, and with the sounding 

fsalmodies of her mediatorial office, between him and the Infinite 

Never must this feeling be confounded with Pantheism, All 
does not seem to him to be God, nor even (strictly speaking) 
divine ; but all seems to be immediately from God — rushing 
out from him in being, to rush instantly oack to him in service 
and praise. Again the natal dew of the first morning is seen lying 
on bud and blade, and the low voice of the first evening's song 
becomes audible again. Although Coleridge in his youth was a 
Spinozist, Wordsworth seems at once, and for ever, to have re- 
coiled from even his friend's eloquent version of that creedless 
creed, that baseless foundation, that system, through the 

fhenomenon of which look not the bright eyes of Supreme 
ntcUigence, but the blind face of irresponsible and infinite 
necessity. Shelley himself — with all the power his critics attri- 
bute to him of painting night, animating Atheism, and giving 
strange loveliness to annihuation — has failed in redeeming Spi- 
noza's theory from the reproach of being as hateful as it is false ; 
and there is no axiom we hold more strongly than this — that the 
theory which cannot be rendered poetical, cannot be true. 
' Beauty is truth, and truth is beauty,' said poor Keats, to whom 
time, however, was not granted to come down from the first 
glowing generalization of his heart, to the particular creeds 
which his ripened intellect would have, according to ii, rejected 
or received. 


Nor, although Wordsworth is a devoted lover of Nature, 
down to what many consider the very blots— or, at least, dashes 
and commas in her page, is he blind to the fact of her transient 
character. The power he worships has his 'dwelling in the 
light of setting suns,' but that dwelling is not his everlasting 
abode. For earth, and the universe, a ^milder day* (words 
certifjring their truth by their simple beauty) is in store when 
* the monuments ' of human weakness, folly, and evil, shall * all 
be overgrown.* He sees a far off the great spectacle of Nature 
retiring before God ; the ambassador giving place to the King ; 
the bright toys of this nursery — sun, moon, earth, and stars — 
put away, like childish things; the symbols of the Infinite lost in 
the Infinite itself; and though he coidd, on the Saturday evening, 
bow before the midnight mountains, and midnight heavens, he 
could also, on the Sabbath mom, in Rydal church, bow as 
profoundly before the apostolic word, ' All these things shall be 

With Wordsworth, as with all great poets, his poetical creed 
passes into his religious. It is the same tune with variations. 
But we confess that, in his case, we do not think the variations 
equal. The mediation of Nature he understands, and has beauti- 
fully represented in his poetry ; but that higher mediation of the 
Divine Man between man and the Father, does not lie fully or 
conspicuously on his page. A believer in the mystery of godli- 
ness he unquestionably was ; but he seldom preached it. Chris- 
topher North, many years ago, in ' Blackwood,' doubted if there 
were so much as a Bible in poor Margaret's cottage (Excursion). 
We doubt so too, and have not found much of the * true cross ' 
among all his trees. The theologians divide prayer into four 
parts — adoration, thanksgiving, confession, and petition. Words- 
worth stops at the second. Nowhere do we find more solemn, 
sustained, habitual, and worthy adoration, than in his writings. 
The tone, too, of all his poems, is a calm thanksgiving, like 
that of a long blue, cloudless sky, colouring, at evening, into 
the hues of more fiery praise. But he does not weep like a 
penitent, nor supplicate like a child. Such feelings seem sup- 
pressed and folded up as far-off storms, and the traces of past 
tempests are succinctly enclosed in the algebra of the silent 
evening air. And hence, like Milton's, his poetry has rather 
tended to foster the glow of devotion in the loftier spirits of the 
race — ^previously taught to adore — ^than like that of Cowper and 
Montgomery, to send prodigals back to their forsaken homes ; 
Davick, to cry, ' Against thee only have I sinned ;' and Peters, 
to shriek in agony, ' Lord, save us, we perish.' 

To pass from the essential poetic element in a writer of 
genius, to his artistic skill, is a felt, yet necessary descent — ^like 


the painter compelled, after sketching the man's countenance, to 
draw his dress. And yet, as of some men and women, the Tery 
dress, by its simplicity, ;elegance, and unity, seems fitted rather 
to ^arb the soul than the body — seems the soul made visible — 
so IS it with the style and manner of many great poets. Their 
speech and music without are as inevitable as their genius, or 
as the song for ever sounding within their souls. And why? 
The whole ever tends to beget a whole — the large substance to 
cast its deep, yet delicate, shadow — ^the divine to be like itself in 
the human, on which its seal is set. So it is with Wordsworth. 
That profound simplicity — that clear obscurity — ^that night-like 
noon — ^that noon-like night — ^that one atmosphere of overhanging 
Deity, seen weighing upon ocean and pool, mountain and mole- 
hill, forest and flower— that pellucid depih — that entireness of 
purpose and fulness of power, connected with fragmentary, 
wilral, or even weak execution — ^that humble, yet proud, pre- 
cipitation of himself, Anteeus-like, upon the bosom of simple 
scenes and simple sentiments, to regain primeval vigour — ^that 
obscure, yet lofbjr isolation, like a tarn, little in size, but elevated 
in site, with few visitors, but with many stars — that Tory- 
Radicalism, Popish-Protestantism, philosophical Christianitjr, 
which have rendered him a glorious riddle, and made Shelley, m 
despair of finding it out, exclaim-— 

' No Deist, and no Christian he ; 
No Whig, no Tory. 
He ffot so subtle, that to be 
Nothing was all his glory,'-^ 

all such apparent contradictions, but real unities, in his poetical 
and moral creed and character, are fully expressed in his lowly 
but aspiring language, and the simple, elaborate architecture of 
his verse — every stone of which is lifted up by the strain of strong 
logic, and yet laid to music ; and, above all, in the choice of his 
subjects, which range^ with a free and easv motion, up from a 
warden spade and a village drum, to the 'celestial visages' which 
darkened at the tidings of man's ftdl, and to the ' organ of eter- 
nity,* which sung pseans over his recovery. 

We sum up what we have further to say of Wordsworth, under 
the items of his works, his life and charabter, his death ; and shall 
close by inquiring. Who is worthy to be his successor ? 

His works, covering a large space, and abounding in every 
variety of excellence and style, assume, after all, a fragmentary 
aspect. They are true, simple, scattered, and strong, as blocks 
torn from the crags of Helvellvn, and lying there * low, but 
mighty still.' Few even of his ballads are wholes. They leave 
too much untold. They are fru* too suggestive to satisfy. From 


each poem, however roanded^ there streams off a long train of 
thought ; like the tail of a cornet^ which^ while testifying its 
power> mars its aspect of oneness. The ^ Excursion,' avowedly 
a fragment, seems the spUnter of a larger splinter ; like a piece 
of Pallas, itself a piece of some split planet. Of all his poems, 
perhiUM, his sonnets^ his ' Laodamia,' his ' Intimations of Im- 
mortality/ and his verses on the ^ Eclipse in Italy,' are the moat 
complete in execution, as certainly Uiey are the most classical 
in design. Dramatic power he has none, nor does he regret the 
want. ' I hate,' he was wont to say to Hazlitt, ^ those interlocu- 
tions between Caius and Ludus.' He sees, as ' from a tower, 
the end of alL' The waving lights and shadows, the varied 
loopholes of view, the shiftings and fluctuations of feeling, the 

Sowing, broadening interest of the drama, have no charm for 
m. Bis mind, from its gigantic size, contracts a gigantic 
stiffiiess. It 'moveth altogether, if it move at all.' Hence, 
some of his smaller poems remind you of the dancing of an 
elephant, or of the ^ hills leaping like lambs.' Many of the 
little poems which he wrote upon a system are exceedingly tame 
and feeble. Yet often, even in his narrow bleak vales, we find 
one ^meek streamlet — only one' — ^beautifying the desolation; 
and feel how painful it is for him to become poor, and that, 
when he sinks, it is with ' compulsion and laborious flight.' 
But, having subtracted such faults, how much remains— of 
truth — of tenderness — of sober, eve-like grandeur— of purged 
beauties, white and clean as the lilies of Eden— of calm, deep 
reflection, contained in Knes and sentences which have become 
proverbs— of mild enthusiasm — of minute knowledge of nature — 
of strong, yet imostentatious, sympathy with man — and of 
devout and breathless communion with the Great Author of all ! 
Apart altogether from their intellectual pretensions, Words- 
worth's poems possess a moral clearness, beauty, transparency, 
and harmony, which connect them immediately with those of 
Milton ; and beside the more popular poetry of the past age 
— such as Byron's, and Moore's — they remind us of that un- 
planted garden, where the shadow of God united all trees of 
fruitfulness, and all flowers of beauty, into one ; where the 
' large river,' which watered the whole, * ran south,' toward the 
sun of heaven — ^when, compared with the gardens of the Hes- 
perides, where a dragon was the presiding deity, or with those 
of Vauxhall or White Conduit-house, where Comus and his 
rabble rout celebrate their undisguised orgies of miscalled and 
miserable pleasure. 

To write a great poem demands years— -to write a great un- 
dying example, demands a life-time. Such a life, too, becomes a 
poenft— higher far than pen can inscribe, or metre make musical. 


Such a life it was granted to Wordsworth to live in seyere har- 
mony with his verse — as it lowly, and as it aspiring, to liye too 
amid opposition, obloquy, and abuse — to liye too amid the glare 
of that watchful observation, which has become to public men 
far more keen and far more capacious in its powers and oppor- 
tunities, than in Milton's days. It was not, unquestionably, a 
perfect life, even as a man's, tax less as a poet's. He did feel and 
resent, more than beseemed a great man, the pursuit and perse- 
cution of the hounds, whether ^ grey' and swift-footed, or whether 
curs of low degree, who dogged his steps. His voice from hit 
woods sounded at times rather like the moan of wounded weak- 
ness, than the bellow of masculine wrath. He should, simply^ in 
reply to his opponents, have written on at his poems, and let hii 
prcfeces alone. * If they receive your first book ill,' wrote 
Thomas Carlyle to a new author, * write the second better — lo 
much better as to shame them.' When will authors learn that 
to answer an unjust attack, is, merely to give it a keener edge» 
and that all injustice carries the seed of oblivion and exposure 
in itself? To use the language of the masculine spirit just 
quoted, ^ it is really a truth, one never knows whether praise be 
really good for one— or whether it be not, in very fact, the worst 

foison that could be administered. Blame, or even vituperation, 
have always found a safer article. In the long run, a man h4U, 
and Uy just what he is and has — the world's notion of him has 
not altered him at all, except, indeed, if it have poisoned him 
with self-conceit, and made a caput martuum of him.' 

The sensitiveness of authors — were it not such a sore subject-— 
might admit of some curious reflections. One would sometimes 
fancy that Apollo, in an angry hour, had done to his sons, what 
fable records him to have done to Marsyas— ;/2(iy^ them alive. 
Nothing has brought more contempt upon authors than this — 
implying, as it does, a lack of common courage and manhood. 
The true son of genius ought to rush before the public as the 
warrior into battle, resolved to hack and hew his way to eminence 
and power, not to whimper like a schoolboy at every scratch— to 
acknowledge only home thrusts — large, lifc-letting-out blow^— 
determined either to conquer or to die — and, feeling that battles 
should be lost in the same spirit in which they are won. If 
Wordsworth did not fully answer this ideal, others have sunk tu 
more disgracefully and habitually below it. 

In private, Wordsworth, we understand, was pure, mild, aim* 
pie, and majestic — ^perhaps somewhat austere in his judgments of 
the erring, and, perhaps, somewhat narrow in his own economioB. 
In accordance, we suppose, with that part of his poetic aystem, 
which magnified mole-heaps to mountains, pennies aaaumed the 
importance of pounds. It ia ludicrous, yet characteristic, to think 


of the CTeat author of the * Recluse/ squabbling with a porter 
about the price of a parcel, or bidding down an old book at a 
stall. He was one of the few poets who were ever guilty of the 
crime of worldly prudence — that ever could have fulfilled the 
old paradox, * A poet has built a house.' In his young days, 
according to Hazlitt, he said little in society — sat generally lost 
in thought — threw out a bold or an indifferent remark occa- 
sionally — and relapsed into reverie again. In latter years, he 
became more talkative and oracular. His health and haoits were 
always regular, his temperament happy, and his heart sound and 

We have said that his life, as a poet, was far from perfect. 
Our meaning is, that he did not sufficiently, owing to tempera- 
ment, or position, or habits, sympathize with the on goings of 
society, the fulness of modern life, and the varied passions, 
unbeliefs, sins, and miseries of modern human nature. His soul 
dwelt apart. He came, like the Baptist, ' neither eating nor 
drinking,* and men said, * he hath a demon.' He saw at morn- 
ing, from London bridge, ' all its mighty heart' lying still ; but he 
did not at noon plunge artistically into the thick of its throbbing 
life ; far less sound the depths of its wild midnight heavings of 
revel and wretchedness, of hopes and fears, of stifled fury and 
eloquent despair. Nor, although he sung the * mighty stream of 
tendency' of this wondrous age, did he ever launch his poetic 
craft upon it, nor seem to see the whitherwards of its swift and 
i\y> ful stress. He has, on the whole, stood aside from his time 
— not on a peak of the past — not on an anticipated Alp of the 
future, but on his own Cumberland highlands — hearing the 
tumult and remaining still, lifting up his life as a far-seen 
beacon-fire, studying the m«anners of the humble dwellers in the 
vales below — * piping a simple song to thinking hearts,' and 
striving to waft to brother spirits, the fine infection of his own 
enthusiasm, faith, hope, and devotion. Perhaps, had he been 
less strict and consistent in creed and in chararacter, he might 
have attained greater breadth, blood-warmth, and wide-spread 
power, have presented on his page a fuller reflection of our pre- 
sent state, and drawn from his poetry a yet stronger moral, and 
become the Shakespere, instead of the Milton, of the age. For 
himself, he did undoubtedly choose the * better part ;' nor do we 
mean to insinuate that any man ought to contaminate himself for 
the sake of his art, but that the poet of a period will necessarily 
come so near to its peculiar sins, sufferings, follies, and mistakes, 
as to understand them, and even to feel the force of their tempta- 
tions, and though he should pever yield to, yet must have a * fel- 
low-feeling* of its prevailing infirmities. 

The death of this eminent man took few by surprise. Many 

vol.. xxvui. F 


anxious eyes have for a while been tamed towards Rydal Moimt 
where this hermit stream was nearly sinking into the oeeai 
of the Infinite. And now, to use his own grand word, oied 
at the death of Scott, a * trouble' hangs upon Helvellyn's brow, 
and over the waters of Windermere. The last of the Lakers hai 
departed. That glorious country has become a tomb for itt 
more glorious children. No more is Southey's tall form seen d 
his library window, confronting Skiddaw — ^with a port as statdj 
as its own. No more does Coleridge's dim eye look down into 
the dim tarn, heavy laden, too, under the advancing thunder 
storm. And no more is Wordsworth's pale and lofty frtml 
shaded into divine twilight, as he plunges at noon-day amidst th 
quiet woods. A stiller, sterner power than poetry has foUec 
into its strict, yet tender and yearning embrace, those 

' Serene creators of immortal things.' 

Alas ! for the pride and the glory even of the purest product 
of this strange world ! Sin and science, pleasure and poetry, th< 
lowest vices and the highest aspirations, are eaually unable t 
rescue their votaries from the swift ruin whidi is in chase o 
us all. 

' Golden lads and girls all must 
Like chimney-sweepers come to dust.' 

But Wordsworth has left for himself an epitaph almost supei 
fluously rich — in the memory of his private virtues— of tb 
impulse he gave to our declining poetry— of the sympathies h 
discovered in all his strains wiu the poor, the neglected, an 
the despised — of the version he furnished of Nature, true ai 
beautiful as if it were Nature describing herself— ^{ his lofty an 
enacted ideal of his art and the artist— of the ' thoughts, too dec 
for tears,' he has given to meditative and lonely hearts — an 
above all, of the support he has lent to the cause of the * prim 
duties ' and eldest instincts of man — to his hope of immortalit 
and his fear of God. And now we bid him farewell, in his on 
words — 

* Blessings be with him, and eternal praise. 
The poet^ who on earth has made us heirs 
Of truth and pure delight, by heavenly lays.' 

Although, as already remarked, not the poet of the age- 
has, in our view, been, on the whole, fortunate for poetry «i 
society that for seven years William Wordsworth has bei 
poet-laureate. We live in a transition stato in respect to bot 
The march and the music are both changing — nor are they j 
fully attuned to each other— and, meanwhde, it was desinb 
that a poet should preside, whose strains formed a fine * music 
conftision,' like that of old in the ' wood of Crete'— of the old ax 


the new — of the CotiservatiTe and the Democratic— of the 
golden age» supposed by many to have existed in the past« and of 
the millennium^ expected by more in the future — a compromise of 
the two poetical styles besides — ^the one, which clung to the 
hoary tradition of the elders, and the other, which accepted 
innovation because it was new, and boldness because it was 
daring, and mysticism because it was dark — not truth, though 
new ; beauty, though bold ; and insight, though shadowy and 
thjr. Nay, we heartily wish, had it been for nothing else than 
this, that his reign had lasted for many years longer, till, 
perchance, the discordant elements in our creeds and hterature 
had been somewhat harmonized. As it is, there must now be 
^at difficulty in choosing his successor to the laureateship ; nor 
IS there, we think, a single name in our poetry whose elevation 
to the office would give universal, or even general, satisfaction. 

Milman is a fine poet, but not a great one. Croly is, or 
ought to have been, a great poet ; but is not sufficiently known, 
nor en rapport with the spirit of the time. Bowles is dead 
— Moore dying. Lockhart and Macaulay have written clever 
ballads ; but no shapely, continuous, and masterly poem. John 
Wilson, alicu Christopher North, has more poetry in his eye, 
brow, head, hair, figure, voice, talk, and the prose of his 
' Noctes/ than any man living ; but his verse, on the whole, is 
mawkish — and his being a Scotchman will be a stumbling-block 
to manv, though not to us ; for, had Campbell been alive, we 
should tave said at once, let him be laureate — if manly grace, 
classic power, and genuine popularity, form qualifications for the 
office. Tennyson, considering all he has done, has received his 
fiill meed already. Let him and Leigh Hunt repose under the 
shadow of their pensions. Our gifted friends, Bailey, of 
* Festus,' and Yendys, of the ' Roman,* are yet in blossom — 
though it is a glorious blossom. Henry Taylor is rather in the 
sere and yellow leaf — nor was his leaf ever, in our judgment, very 
fresh or ample : a masterly builder he is, certainly, but the 
materials he brings are not highly poetical. When Dickens is 
promoted to Scott's wizard throne, let Browning succeed Words- 
worth on the forked Helvellyn ! Landor is a vast monumental 
name ; but, while he has overawed the higher intellects of the 
time, he has never touched the general heart, nor told the world 
much, except his great opinion of himself, the low opinion he 
has of almost everybody else, and the very learned reasons and 
sufficient grounds he has for supporting those twin opinions. 
Never was such power so wasted and tmx>wn away. The pro- 
position of a lady laureate is simply absurd, without being 
witty. Why not as soon have proposed the Infant Sappho? 
In short, if we ask again, * Where is the poet worthy to wear the 

68 Payne's lectures on theology. 

crown which has dropped from the solemn brow of " old Pan/* 
" sole kmg of rocky Cumberland ?" * — Echo, from Glaramanij or 
the Langdale Pikes, might well answer, * Where V 

We have, however, a notion of our own, which we mean, m i 
close to the article, to indicate. The laureateship was too long • 
sop for parasites, whose politics and poetry were equally tame. 
It seems now to have become the late reward of veteran merit— 
the Popedom of poetry. Why not, rather, hang it up as a 
crown, to be won by our rising bards— either as tne reward of 
some special poem on an appointed subject, or of general merit? 
Why not delay for a season the bestowal of the laurel, and giw 
thus a national importance to its decision? Only we shooU 
insist on some other committee for settling the point than her < 
Majesty's Ministers, who, since Macaulay resigned, possess not 
one man who can distinguish between bathos and beau^ — ^^ 
had almost said, between poetry and prose — ^who, but tor tb^ 
fact of his being a Tory, might by this time have interwoven tb^ 
laurel with the wig of Patrick Robertson — and who, pcrhap^ 
ere this paper has seen the light, have insulted the literature o^ 
the country by bestowing it upon Monckton Milnes, or on som*^ 
similar ^ sublime of mediocrity,* who happens to have Longma^ 
or Moxon for his accoucheur, and the * Edinburgh Review ' f<^^ 
his godfather. 

Art. Wh'^Lectures on Christian Theology, By the late Rev. Oeovgi? 
Payne, LL.D., Professor of Divinity in the Western College. 
With a Memoir^ by Rev. John Pyer ; and JReminiscence$^ by Rev. 
Ralph Wardlaw, D.D. Edited by Evan Davies. Two VoU. 
8vo. London : John Snow. 

Mr. Davies says, in his short and modest Preface to these 
goodly volumes, that ' the work of editing them could not but 
prove a labour of love to a former attached pupiL How many 
grateful recollections it has called to mind ! How greatly it bM 
deepened the sense of obligations previously felt ! And in the 
performance of such a duty, love could not fail of assuming tlie 
form of reverence ! The occupation related to the dead ! On 
the spot stood his monument, erected by his own hands,"-*it 
could have been reared by no otlier ; and the editor esteemed it 
no small honour to be employed in removing some of the 
scaflfolding which no one was permitted to touch till the revered 

paynb's lectures on theology. 69 

builder had retired to rest ! The employment has been solemn^ 
but instructive ! Here words should be few ; and, therefore, he 
will only suggest to the reader, that when he comes hither — to 
the literary monument of his venerated tutor — ^thought and re- 
flection arc needful and appropriate I ' 

We accept the suggestion, simply premising that the terms 
* literary monument' do not sufficiently characterise the work to 
which they refer. Yet we thank Mr. JDavies for the expression, 
inasmuch as we have long felt that the craving for literary fame, 
which seeks to realize the object of its ambition by a systematic 
avoidance of reference to the Christian doctrine, pursues exactly 
that course which ensures its speedy mortality. Bounded periods, 
elegant conceptions, beautiful ideas, flights of ^ winged fancy,' 
are all very well in their own province — and it is not our habit 
to chain the children of genius — ^but it has often been noted, 
and prolonged experience confirms the observation, that those 
authors have the surest prospect of an abiding name who sub- 
ordinate their talents and acquirements to the truth of God, and 
the immortal interests of man. Milton and Cowper will live 
when Byron and Shelley are forgotten. Those will be house- 
hold words, when these, with all their acknowledged genius, will 
be discovered only by the literary antiquary in the national 
museum. And much of that which now passes for brilliance 
will be eclipsed by the steady light reflected from the 'ever- 
lasting ray.* In fact, literature, like philosophy, is in her loftiest 
mood and noblest position when she is doing service at the foot- 
stool of Christianity. The highest form of truth takes to its 
bosom and immortalizes with itself those who, like the departed 
author of these volumes, devote to its service the mental powers 
with which they have been entrusted. This we take to be the 
solution of the problem and the philosophy of the fact under 

We have said, departed author. These volumes are posthu- 
mous — as such they are suggestive. Another standard-bearer 
has fallen ; another voice, which uttered from an earnest heart 
the living truths of Christianity, is still ; another well-instructed 
scribe rests from his labours ; but the thoughts of a mind con- 
secrated to the highest kind of service in which any of the sons 
of men are permitted to engage, are generally diff'used far beyond 
the * local habitation ' of the labourer during his lifetime, and long 
survive the period when ' devout men carry him to his burial.* 
Many ministers, now labouring in their respective spheres, 
gathered from the lips of Dr. Payne seeds of truth far more 
valuable than the sands of the Sacramento— seeds of truth, which 
they in their turn have scattered only to be reproduced in a still 
more glorious form in regions of purity and light. And th.; 


Yolumes which we now introduce to our readers are a treasurj 
of thought^ theological^ metaphysical^ and polemic, which many 
a diligent student will open m years to come, and find himself 
refreshed, enlightened, and invigorated. 

We shall return to the preliminary matter, purposing, naean- 
time, to put those of our readers who may not yet possess these 
volumes into direct contact with the opinions of Jjt, Payne on 
some of the subjects which are at present agitating the public 
mind. We do not recollect any reply to Umne's nmoos 
argument against miracles more convincing, and at the same 
time popular, than the following : — 

* But though we should discard the atheistical opinion that mirmcles 
are beyond the power of God, or that the laws of nature are too sacred 
to be suspended even by their Author, so that every miracnious report 
ought at once to be rejected, it is still objected that no accumulatiflo of 
testimony will justify us in admitting such a report. This is the cele- 
brated objection of Hume. *' Experience,** says he, " is our only guide 
in judging of matters of fact ; a miracle is a violation of the laws of 
nature ; a firm and invariable experience has established these laws ; 
and therefore, experience has furnished us with proof against a miracle, 
stronger than any which can be brought to support it by testimony.** 
I agree with the writer quoted a short time ago PDr. Channing], that 
** infidelity has seldom forged a weaker weapon than this argiunent of 
Hume ;" and that it would not deserve notice, were it not from the 
name of its author. Yet, as it is well known, and may do mischief to 
those who cannot unravel the sophistries of this writer, I will make a 
few remarks upon it. 

* 1. Wc might except against the statement, that we can only judge 
of the truth of a matter of fact by experience. On this, however, I 
cannot enlarge. 

* 2. We might ask him, what he means by experience ? If by this 
term he intends to designate our own personal or individual experience, 
then must we, in addition to miracles, reject ten thousand facts which 
no one in his senses can deny. We must maintain tbat the sun is 
never vertical between the tropics ; and that there are three hundred 
and sixty-five days and nights in the year at the poles — though it is 
demonstrable that there can be but one of each. 

* If by experience he intended to denote gensnU or univermd experi- 
ence — the experience of all men, in all ages and countries ; then we 
answer, that experience in this sense is not against a miracle — that the 
laws of nature are not established by a firm and invariable experience ; 
for, in the experience of many thousands (and Mr. Hume cannot deny 
this, without the most flagrant assumption of the very point in dispute;, 
the laws of nature have l)een actually suspended ; so that the fact of 
occasional deviations from the laws of nature is as really established 
by experience, as the fact of the general observation of those laws. 

* Further, we would ask Mr. Hume how lie hiis piined the know. 
It'<igp of experience in this extended sense* of the term ? How he has 

patnb'8 lectures om thsoloot. 71 

ascertained what is, in point of fact, the experience of all men in all 
ages and countries? He can only reply, By testimony. So that 
testimony must be believed, before he can obtain the verdict of ex- 
perience ; and yet such is the gross contradiction in which he involves 
himself-— experience is to guide us whether to believe the testimony or 
not; I.e., the cause must mrst produce the effect, then the effect is to 
decide whether the cause shall exist! It is some consolation to 
recollect that this is the reasoning, not of a Christian, but of an infidel. 
* Further ; to say nothing more at present of the hocus pocus manner 
in which Mr. Hume gains his knowledge of experience, we might ask 
him whether he can possibly persuade himself that he b acquainted 
with the experience of all men in the world, in all ages and countries, 
in reference to any one of the laws of nature. It was contrary to his 
experience, we admit, that a dead man should come to life again- 
contrary to the experience of all the men with whom he had conversed 
—contrary to the experience of most of the men of whom he had ever 
heard. But had Mr. Hume conversed with all the men in the world ? 
Had he received information of all the men in the world ? Was there 
not a single being with whose experience Mr. Hume was not ac- 
quainted ? Now if there were one, that individual— for aught that 
Mr. Hume could know or say to the contrary — might have had ex- 
perience of a miracle ; the experience of that individual might establish 
the possibility of a miracle. The fact is, that the attribute of omni- 
science is requisite to the knowledge of experience in that sense of the 
term which can alone support Mr. Hume's argument ; for if it be any 
thing short of what it professes to be — firm and imalterable, i,e. the 
experience of all men, in all ages and countries ; it cannot justify any 
one, even on Mr. Hume's principles, in rejecting testimony in support 
of a fact, which may be in harmony ^vith the experience of multitudes, 
though we, in our ignorance, know it not.'— Vol. ii. pp. 371 — 378. 

We commend to the modern school of anti-supernaturalists 
an attentive examination of the argument in the lecture from 
which we have quoted. The disciples of that school will find 
in these pages abundant evidence that they have much to learn 
before the world gives them credit for a monopoly of reason ; 
and that their frequent indictment, both by assertion and impli- 
cation, of Christianity as a system which throws a cloud around 
the human understanding, and demands the surrender of philo- 
sophical inquiry, as the condition of faith, is wholly unsupported. 
On the contrary, the evidence is all the other way. George 
Payne was not a man to assume a premiss without investigation. 
He takes nothing for granted. With a power of analysis rarely 
surpassed, he subjected every proposition, metaphysical or 
theological, to the severest inspection. By a process of 
anatomy, for which he was greatly distinguished, combined with 
a perseverance which no difficulty could overcome, he reduced 
every theory that lay in his path to its constituent parts, and 
rested not until he was satisfied either of its truth or falsehood. 

12 Payne's lectures on theology. 

It has, indeed^ been alleged, that he carried this mental tendency 
to such an extent as to make the style of his prelections some- 
what cold and uninviting. This mental trait, however, warrants 
the notion that, if either the miracles or prophecies of the Bible 
were false. Dr. Payne was eminently fitted to detect the 
imposture. Surely it is a question worthy of consideration by 
those who are labouring to destroy all the peculiarities of Chris- 
tianity, how it comes to pass that some of the clearest intellects 
and most profound thinkers that England has produced, haYC 
devoted their best years to * Christian theology,' and yet, with 
one voice, have declared the Bible to be, ' in deed and m truth/ 
a revelation from God ? Nor is the unanimity of their verdict 
affected by variety of opinion on questions of ecclesiastical 
polity. Churchmen and Dissenters, with their respective sub- 
divisions, have been represented in this court of inquiry by 
' representative men,' whose names are venerated in every region 
wh(!re a Christian literature has found its way. 

But, in view of this class of objectors, we go a step further, 
and submit that Christianity, so far from darkening or enfeebling 
the intellectual powers, is the ' true light ' which illumines and 
invigorates them. Its value in this respect may bo briefly 
tested. Whatever tends to divorce man from the dominion of 
his mere instinctS; to make him recognise the superior claims of 
his intellectual nature, and to induce self-respect, is valuable in 
proportion to the power which it possesses to effect all this. The 
means are valuable, on account of, and because in harmony with, 
the desired end. Now, if Christianity clearly avows it as its 
purpose thus to elevate man, to control his wayward and 
degrading passions, and to forward the true interests of indivi- 
duals witnout detriment to those of others, why should any class, 
])rofessing anxiety for the elevation of their species, turn awav 
with gestures of impatience when the aid of Christianity is 
offered to realize the end M-hich they desire? If it can be shoMm 
that Christianity contains principles which are inimical to the 
moral and intellectual nature of man, then, of course, it clashes 
with the progress of the race ; but if, on the contrary, it is 
acknowledged, by all who have examined the matter, that il 
contains tne purest morals, and presents the most sublime 
motives for the improvement of the heart, that it encourages the 
student to acquire elevating knowledge, and in no instance pro- 
hibits investigation into any subject fitted to make men wise, 
then it is entitled to the suffrage of all who would either rise 
themselves, or aid others to rise in the Fcale of morality and 
wisdom. It is entitled to be ranked first among educational 
agencies. It \b the most powerful and ^ucce^^♦ful teacher which 
the world po^se^^es. It has j)cnctrattii tli«.»>t rcti{>se> of dark- 

Payne's lbcturks on theology. 73 

ness which no other educational agency could reach^ and has 
conveyed information to which no other system even pretends. 

Another ^eat question of the day relates to the union of the 
Church wim the State; and every man who gives the least 
attention to the phenomena of society at this moment^ must 
admit that this is no longer a question of sect or party^ but one of 
absorbing national importance. It will soon be translated from 
the platform of the Anti-state-church Association to the minis- 
terial benches^ and will find an echo in both Houses of Parliament. 

'In 1834,* says Mr. Pyer, ' Dr. Payne published a pamphlet of 
forty-seven octavo pages, entitled, " The Separation of Church and 
State calmly considered, in reference to its Probable Influence upon 
the Cause and Progress of Evangelical truth in this Country." Two 
editions of this work appeared ; the first under the signature of a 
*' Devonshire Dissenter," and the other with his own name attached. 
In his opening remarks, he adverts to the misrepresentations which 
have been made of the opinions and efibrts of Dissenters on the great 
question at issue, and states, very fairly, what it is they intend, when 
they plead for the Separation of the Church from the State. Thus he 
places the matter : — 

' " It is seldom the case that the sentiments of an individual or a sect 
are exhibited with perfect correctness by one who endeavours to over- 
throw them. Even in the absence of any disposition to indulge in 
misrepresentation, the medium of prejudice through which he views 
them, afiecting his own conception of their nature and consequences, 
will certainly, and perhaps unconsciously, lead him to present them in 
a false light to others. The Dissenters of this country do not wish to 
think that their opinions have been intentionally misrepresented ; yet 
the apparent reluctance with which our explanations have been received, 
renders it impossible for us to give— at least, to the more prominent 
advocates of the endowed Chiu-ch— credit for the possession of all that 
candour and single-mindedness with which a controversy so important 
as that which has commenced between the Church and Dissenters, 
shoidd be carried on. 

* " From the press, and from the senate of our country, the charge 
against us has issued, and is now resounding through the whole length 
and breadth of the land, that the great object of the present movement is 
to destroy the Established Chiu-ch. Our reply, in eficct at least, has been, 
that we merely wish to destroy the civil Establishment of that Church ; 
two things which could not have been identified, had there been a little 
more candour, or a little more discernment, on the part of our opponents. 
The least reflection upon the two preceding forms of expression cannot 
fail to bring the conviction to every honest mind, that, in the first case, 
the thing which is desired to be destroyed, is the Church ; t,e., the 
Episcopalian section of the Church ; while in the latter case, it is not 
the Chiurch, but its alliance with the State. The dissolution of the 
conjugal union between two individuals, who ought not to have formed 
it, is not, surely, the destruction of the female, but the destruction of a 
relation merely in which she had stood, or had been supposed to stand. 

74 patnb's LEcrnjABS on thboloot. 

to the other party. The Church, as it is called by courtesy, •.#., the 
Episcopalian denomination, is now the spouse of the State (we think 
she ought to be the spouse of Christ oiUy) ; our anxiety is simply to 
obtain a writ of divorce. If our opponents will continue to represent 
this as a desire to put the wife to death, the public must judge whether 
the defect is in our statements, or in their perceptions.'* ' — Mwmoir^ 
pp. 69, 70. 

Mr. Pyer characterises this pamphlet as terse, vigorout, and 
convincing, and yet without a particle of bigotry, or a sentence 
that can justly give offence. He adds, ' The Ajiti-6tate*church 
Association could not do a better seryice to the cause it adyo- 
cates, than to reprint and circulate it by thousands.' 

The great yalue of these yolumes, howeyer, is that which is 
indicated by their title — * Lectures on Christian Theology.* Our 
readers need no information respecting the doctrinal views of the 
author of * Lectures on Divine Sovereignty, Election, the Atone- 
ment, Justification, and Regeneration.' The first series, extend- 
ing to thirteen lectures, is aevoted to the ' Divine Existence and 
Perfections.' The second, embracing six lectures, treats of the 
' Divine Unity, and the Revealed Doctrine of the Trinity.' The 
third, discussed in seven lectures, is entitled, ' Tlie Works of 
God.' The fourth, on ' The Redeemer of Man,' extends to fbor^ 
teen lectures. And the fifth, on 'Miscellaneous' subjects, is 
comprehended in eight lectures. 

We are neither prepared, nor called on, to endorse every 
opinion advanced in this work, nor is it necessary to express 
in stronger language than we have used our estimate of iti 
worth. We are glad to discover signs of an increased attention 
to the claims of systematic theology. Topical discourses, how« 
ever valuable in themselves, necessarily present the truth only 
in fragments ; — ^the coherence, the unity of the Divine mani- 
festation, cannot be thus exhibited to the hearer. He is like a 
man ignorant of astronomy, gazing with wonder upon the 
siderciu heavens ; but who knows not that each is a part of the 
stupendous whole, that the laws of harmony and subordination 
obtain among all these apparently insulated orbs, and unite them 
in one great fellowship — the commonwealth of the skies, and a 

Eortion of the measureless universe of (lod. But, whatever may 
e said respecting the multitude of hearers, a well*fumishea 
instructor of others in the truths of Christianity must study 
system, if he would avoid the error of magnifying one or more 
doctrines of scripture at the expense of others. As aU scripture 
is given by inspiration of God, so all scripture should be searched, 
that the bearing and influence of one portion on another may be 
apprehended, and when apprehended, exhibited to the audience 
for the purpose of instruction in righteousness : — 

itAtMM*^ hxxnvmm on thboloot. 75 

' QfloeraUy Bpeaking,' tays Dr. Payne, in the Introductory Lecture, 
* the fiu»lity we possess in communicating what we know to others, will 
be in proportion to our own knowledge. What we thoroughly under- 
stand, we shall be able to exhibit clearly and fully to others, and to 
convey to them a thorough imderstanding of it ; and, on the other 
hand, an imperfect conception of any subject can only originate a 
lame, and obscure, and feeble exhibition of it. Qive but to the teacher 
of theology a perfect comprehension of what he is about, and I will 
answer for his making his way to the understanding, if not the 
consciences, of his hearers. Now, to study theology systematically, 
must, on these principles, aid in the communication of truth. A careful 
comparison of apparently conflicting passages, or conflicting doctrines, 
cannot fail to give us a more definite, and clear, and accurate con- 
cepton of their meaning. It is astonishing how very loose and vague 
are the notions entertained by many men-*imd many preachers, too— • 
with reference to some very important points of Divine truth ; and 
not more astonishing, I may add, than disgraceful. Ignorance of the 
important principles of his profession, is always considered disgraceful 
to the lawver or physician. How much more dishonourable to the 
theologian f And this prevalence of those loose and vague notions, to 
which I have just referred, I am disposed to trace, in a considerable 
degree at least, to a want of attention to theology as a system. ''A good 
divine," says one, " is far superior to a mere composer of sermons. He 
will have a greater fulness of thought, and a more commanding view of 
his subjects." I am convinced, also, that the systematic study of theology 
will tend to give a vigour and firmness to your statements of truth, as 
much removed from ofiensive dogmatism on the one hand, as from 
weakness and hesitation on the other. Without comprehensive 
acquaintance with the subject on which we speak, in all its bearings 
and connexions, we are apt to get into a most offensive and ignorant 
dogmatism — floundering on from one contradiction to another, pidling 
down this half hour that which we built up the preceding one ; or we 
should be, perhaps, afraid, on the other hand, of opening our mouth, 
lest the second breath shotdd gainsay the first, and convince our 
hearers that their teacher knows little or nothing about the matter. 
It is very desirable that a minister should be fully sensible of what he 
Is about, that he should feel hb ground, that he should be aware of 
the dangers on either hand of him. This will give him, though a 
prudent, a firm step. He will not be obliged to be impudent to 
prove that he is not empty ; nor hesitating, to show that he is not 
heedless and rash." ' 

We conclude by a word or two about the preliminary matter 
of these volumes. The editor has discharged his duty, as he 
tells U8, ' as a labour of love.' The arrangement indicates care 
and judgment The * Memoir * by the ]Rev. John Pyer, is one 
of the most prudent pieces of biography we have seen for some 
time. It is a calm and truthful description of the history, life, 
and writings of a deceased friend. You see the man before you, 
just as he was, — the good servant of Jesus Christ, the acute 


metaphysician^ the able diviney the diligent tutor^ the foithful 
friend, the loving husband and father, the humble Christian, 
and the modest man ; you see, in the concluding words of the 
memoir, * The good Dr. Payne ! ' 

The address at the interment, by Dr. Burder, opens with a 
sentence which is itself a memoir of the noblest kind : * Neyer 
did I follow a friend to the CTave with a deeper persuaooD 
that his spirit was with Christ, than I feel at this solemn momeftt 
regarding my beloved and lamented brother !* 

The paper entitled * Reminiscences,' by Dr. Wardlaw, is bric»« 
but, coming from such a quarter, it is needless to add, valoab^ 
It contains some interesting correspondence, on one or two ^ 
the most difficult points in theology, which passed between tk^ 
two friends many years ago, and which suggests to us that ^^ 
discipline of the mmd in early life, by habits of severe and c^^' 
tinned thought, is one of the surest indications of future eminent* 
wh(»thcr in the field of general literature, or in that most glories ^" 
of all fields—* Christian Theology.' 

Art. VII.-^*Siwai' and Golgotha; a Journey in the East. By Frederic-^ 
Adolph Strauss. Translated from the Qerman. With an Intro ^ 
duction, by Henry Stcbbing, D.D., &c. 16mo, pp. 390. Londoo ^ 
James Blackwood. 1849. 

We hail with sincere pleasure the appearance of this volume* 
from the pen of the amiable and pious licentiate of theology at the 
University of Berlin. This Dr. Strauss is the very antipodc of 
David Strauss, the author of ' Lcben Jesu,* with whom he has 
nothing in common except his name. Tlie author^ Strauss, was 
fitted for his task by unassuming and heartfelt devotion, deep 
theological and scriptural knowledge, childlike simplicity, and, 
above all, by that faith in Christ which is the result of deep 

^ Sinai and Golgotha,' as one might almost infer from the 
title, appeals rather to tlie heart than to the intellect. It is 
written for our instruction and improvement, and describes the 
localities where the most stupendous events have taken place 
which could possibly engage man's reverential attention, and 
are recorded in the Scriptures by eye-witnesses. 

The motives of his jouniey, and the nature and tendency of 
his description, arc lliu.- unfolded by Dr. Strauss in hi«> Preface: — 


* My journey in the East has served as an additional corroboration to 
my mind of the truth of the Divine Word. Could I visit the spots which, 
from the theatre of the sacred history, corresponded in the minutest 
particulars to the statements of Scripture-— could I observe the manners 
of the people, which have there undergone but little alteration during 
the course of centuries— could I witness in the condition of those 
countries, and in the history of those nations, the wonderful fulfilment 
of prophetic declaration — I should, I believed, apprehend more forcibly 
than ever the truth of the Word of God. 

* Thoughts such as these connected with the East, suggest the 
inquiry. What is the present state of religion there; what are the 
operations of our brethren in the faith ; and what is now proclaimed 
of that Word of God once revealed in that land, but now fading in 
obscurity ? The information on both these points, acquired by this 
journey, will be presented in the following pages. May the Lord 
bless ihem to the strengthening of faith, and the promotion of active 

* The emotions I experienced in these most consecrated spots are 
connected in the depths of my heart, and are the most precious 
results of the journey. Such feelings cannot be commimicatcd, but 
every one will enter into them — ^for Sinai and Golgotha are the 
mountains from whence our help hath come.* 

Divided into six parts, of which the following are the names : 
Greece — Egypt — Sinai— Jerusalem — The Promised Land — The 
Betam Home — the whole embraces forty-three subjects, each of 
which forms a separate chapter. 

The first thing which arrests attention in the perusal of this 
work, is the ease and manly freedom with which each statement 
is made, and the objects and circumstances are treated of. 
Every sentence bears proof to the author's thorough acquaintance 
with the satmr fairs. We don't find a single idea too many, 
nor a word with which we could dispense. The whole is a well- 
conceived and highly-finished picture of Eastern life, given in 
lively but truthful colours. What enhances the beauty of the 
book, are the frequent bursts of enthusiasm in which the author 
breaks forth ; and which is in itself so natural, that the reader 
cannot but sympathize with him. We honestly confess, that, 
having ourselves seen, both in the East and in the West, some 
of the beauties and glories of God's creation, we can easily 
understand the ecstasy and delight with which our author dwells 
on the sacred spots he has visited in the course of his very 
interesting journey. 

To give a connected account of what Dr. Strauss saw and 
experienced in the East, is beyond the narrow limits of this 
article. Our space will only allow us to present some detached 
and unconnected extracts, in illustration of what we have said. 

Among the ecclesiastical institutions little known in this 


coantry, is the Greek Church, which, until very lately, has scarcely 
so much as excited the attention of our best and most studious 
men. The Hon. Mr. Curson has recently brought it before the 
learned world ; but even he has treated the matter in a rather 
one-sided, we might almost say superficial, manner. Yet what 
is the account the learned Doctor gives of this branch of the 
Church ?— 

* Let us now turn,' he says, * from the impressions produced upoa 
our minds by the city of Athens, to the consideration of the Gieek 
Church : and, first, we must glance backward to the first centuries of 
the Christian Church. The Ghreek language was that most in use in 
the time of the apostles. For this reason, the Gbspeli and Epistles 
were written in it. But when the boundaries of the promised land 
were passed, and the apostolic churches became more extended, each 
congregation worshipped in its mother tongue, and thus introduced 
the use of many languages into the one Christian Church. In the 
West, the Latin tongue was used; and the distinction between 
the Eastern and Western Churches consisted, at first, only in this 
difference of language, but it soon extended to other points— so 
that both Churches began to modify their doctrines and worship 
according to their respectiye peculiarities. 

* These diversities continued till the time of Constantine ; when, by 
his conversion to Christianity, the boundaries of the Church were 
considerably enlarged, and a form of government was given it by tht 
Emperor, who instructed the Eastern and Western Churches to hold a 
common assembly. Here the more sober and sensible character of 
the West often appeared in opposition to the lively, iinpressible 
spirit of the East ; and, in the discussion respecting Christian doctrinfls, 
the Roman Catholic Western Church (by means of great determina- 
tion) often obtained the victory over the wavering Greeks, sad 
preserved a greater uniformity than the latter, among whom manj 
sects arose, following this or that strange doctrine— as the Coptic, 
Armenian, or Nestorian. 

* The difference between the Churches became at length so great. 
that at the end of the eighth century the union almost ceued to exist ; 
and, in the twelfth centurv, the Pope of Rome and the Patriarch of 
Constantinople czcommumcated each other at the same time. Since 
that period, the Churches have maintained a bitter hatred towards one 
another, each asserting itself to hold the orthodox Catholic fiaith. It 
appears that the Greek Church numbers about seventy millions, and 
the Roman, a hundred and forty millions, of adherents. The Pope 
has, nevertheless, succeeded in subjecting to his authority several 
Greek churches; these are now called Greek-Catholic, while the 
others style themselves Greek-Orthodoz. 

' With respect to the teaching of this Church, its compendium of 
doctrine was written towards the close of the eighth century, by John 
Damascenus, a monk of the Convent of St. Saba, near Jerusalem, and 
is entitled, '' Explanation of the Orthodox Faith.'* To this the Greek 
Church has adhered ; and, while in the West, under the blessing of Ood*8 


Spirit, great light has been obtained on the meaning of the Holy 
Scriptures (although many deviations from the right way have also 
been permitted to creep in), the Qreek Church retains its original 
constitution. Its principles approximate nearer to the Protestant faith 
than do those of the Roman Catholics ; and it has been less decided 
in its opposition to the doctrine of justification by faith. If it accepts 
the seven sacraments, it rejects the theory of purgatory. The Holy 
Sacrament is administered in both kinds; and a spoon of wine is 
presented to the communicant, containing a piece of broken bread. 
One singular custom prevalent among them is, that little children are 
admitted after baptism to the Sacrament of the Supper, manifestly in 
opposition to the rule of the apostle, who enjoins self-examination 
previous to the Communion. The marriage of the lower grade of 
priests is permitted ; the higher ranks of ecclesiastics alone being pro- 
nibited firom entering into the congug^al state. But, much as the 
Ghreek Church resembles the Protestant in some particulars, the Word 
of the Lord does not possess that authority which belongs to it, and 
an individual acquaintance with the Scriptures is almost unknown. 

* The impediments to the progress of the Church were owing partly 
to the general decline of the Eastern power ; but principally to the 
severe and widely extended sway of me Mahomedans, by whom the 
Ghreek Christians were continually confined within narrower bounds. 
A want of spiritual cultivation, almost beyond conception, was the 
residt ; preaching fell more and more into disuse, until it was at length 
completely abandoned ; and the beautiful liturgy, which the early 
Church had left to succeeding generations as an inimitable inheritance, 
became incomprehensible to & people, whose language had under- 
gone considerable alteration. 

* The poor people sank into gross superstition ; and adopted a 
worship of the saints and their images, more degrading than is often 
to be found in the Romish Church itself. 

* Such is the position of the Ghreek Church. Nothing but the deliver- 
ance of the land from the Turkish yoke, accompanied by a great political 
agitation, has been sufficient to arouse it from its sleep of centuries. 
'Diis has been facilitated by its withdrawal from the authority of the 
Patriarch of Constantinople, and its placing itself, after the model of 
the Russian-Greek Church, in the hands of a holy synod; which 
assembles at stated periods for the arrangement of afiairs, and is 
represented by a settled committee. Reformatory regulations will 
doubtless follow this independency. 

* A theological faculty has lately been instituted by the Royal Uni- 
versity, and three professors have been nominated — Pharmakides, 
liisaili, and Eotogonis. We found in these men, a right cheering 
acquaintance with the progress of modem theological literature, and a 
lively interest in science, united with a determined adherence to the 
old doctrines of the Church. . . . 

* If we look back upon the ecclesiastical condition of Ghreece, we 
must be rejoiced to see that the Lord's kingdom is advancing in it ; 
and we cannot but observe, that other Greek Churches which have 
obstructed the advancement of the sister Church, afford little hope of 
improvement amongst themselves.' — Pp. 14—22. 


The voyage up the Nile^ which we subjoin, is, perhaps, one of 
the most graphic and interesting chapters in which the admirable 
book before us abounds. It acquaints us with some of the habits 
of the modem Egyptians and Arabs, and forcibly reminds us of 
the most striking incidents recorded in the Pentateuch. It is in 
no small degree calculated to confirm our belief in the truth of 
the statements made in these portions of holy writ. 

After having given a detailed account of tne Coptic Church as 
it exists in Egypt, the learned traveller says : — 

* We became more fully acquainted with the Coptic Church on our 
voyage up the Nile, which we soon commenced, as, owing to the 
height of the water and the extent of the inundations, we were 
advised to delay our visit to the great Pyramids. For the first time we 
now began to feel ourselves removed from European civilization. . . . 

' On the afternoon of the 12th of December, we entered our boat. 
Besides a covered saloon, it contained tu'o cabins ; one appropriated to 
our baggage, while in the other, two broad divans served as beds by 
night, and as sofas by day. Two high sails were fastened to the long 
mast, and from one of them waved our own black and white Pnusian 
flag. The wind was still, and some of the men began to pidl the boat; we 
often proceeded through the sand ; or, being carried over by the force of 
the current to the opposite side, were sometimes driven back in a few 
minutes to a distance which it was not easy to recover. At the helm 
we often heard the lively song of the sailors, who were of ^'arious 
shades of colour, ftom the clearest brown to the darkest black. The 
others answered the song in a merry choir. The subject of it was 
generally a religious one, for prayer and expressions of devotion make 
up a great part of the life of an Arab. A breeze soon sprung up, and 
our large sails carried the boat swiftly through the rapid stream. 

* We had provided ourselves with books, to prepare us for the 
upper part of the Nile, but the multitude of new sights and new in- 
prcssions prevented us from reading. Boats, announced by the loud 
call of the sailors, were fiying by us every moment ; a glance w as cast 
at the fiag, to see whether people of the country or acquaintances ap* 
preached. The llais, and the drn^onian, greeted their comrades, and 
each communicated, in a few words, the length and object of the 
voyage, and in a short time all sounds became incomprehensible : or 
they succeeded, by means of fast sailing, to overtake a boat, with 
which a race was commenced, lasting for some hours, or even the 
whole day. 

* looking towards the shore, a caravan is seen slowly advanchig ; a 
dromedary hastens by ; it is the post of the pasha, which regularly 
travels to Upper Egypt. I^arge droves of cattle are being driven 
towards Cairo, though scarcely the half arrive theie. Palm sroves in 
the distance indicate a village or a town, built under their shade. The 
women fill their large stone pitchers with the water of the Nile, and« 
lightly placing them on their heads, bear them gracefully to their 
homes, carefully concealing tlicir faces from the passer-by. Again, 
the eye is attracted by an Kgj'ptian, who. by means of water- wheels. 


m tlie sweat of his brow, *' waters the land with his foot/** or goads 
on the oxen and asses who draw the wheels. If the zeal of the steers- 
men or sailors flag, they must be urged forward by a small present of 
tobacco, or the promise of a fee, or backshish. Suddenly the boat stops, 
for the constant yariations of the water, and the quantity of floating 
■and, often cause the best navigator to be at fault. The men spring 
into the water, and soon succeed in making the yessel free again. 
When Sunday came, we held a service, singing the same choruses, and 
joining our prayers to those of the churches in the fatherland. The 
erening, with its glorious sunset, brought us some delightful hours. 
Short would be such a life in communion with a friend of the heart ; 
and this quiet intercourse had an additional charm for me, after the 
scenes of unusual activity in which I had been engaged during the 
past year. 

* Chi the evening of the eighth day, the merry songs of the festival-eve 
announced the great Bairam. Our sailors would not rest the next 
morning, until, according to the custom of the country, we had bought 
a lamb, which was made ready for the evening. At noon we arrived at 
Manfalnt, and the loud sound of drum and flfe proclaimed from far the 
featival-day. Going on shore, we found the people hurrying through 
the atreets to the bazaar, where every one was buying something in 
himour of the feast. Into whatever house we looked, the inhabitants 
seemed busy in the preparation of the lamb. A woman came out from 
one habitation with a basin containing the blood of the slain lamb, 
which she first sprinkled with her hand on the door-posts, and then 
poured the remainder on the door ; forcibly reminding us of the sprin- 
kling of the blood of the Passover lamb on Israers departure from Egypt. 
But no farther connexion could we trace between them.' — P. 60. 

Those of our readers who may be anxious to know something 
respecting the present state of the two mountains * from whence 
our help hath come' — Sinai and Golgotha^ and the Holy Sepul- 
chre — ^will find their wishes gratified in the few extracts we here 
give, and which are worded in a very felicitous and scientific 
manner, by one of the ablest minds we have the good fortune to 
be acquainted with. In allusion to Sinai, Dr. Strauss says : — 

* The mountain ruggedly descends two thousand feet ; presenting, 
first, a series of low lulls, and then a broad plain, which is of an amphi- 
theatrical form, and served as a place of encampment for the children 
of Israel. They gazed upon the mountain towering above them, like 
a gigantic altar. Yes — it stands there like an altar in the holiest of all ; 
the rocky summits encompassing it like the choir of a majestic cathe- 
dral, and the blue heaven forming its vaulted roof. A sanctuary uf 
God ! All traces of a human hand are far removed. No bird sails 
through the air— no blade of grass is on the rocks ! The sky, the 
rocks, and the sea, stand the only witnesses to the creating power of 
that Almighty God who made heaven and earth. . . . 

' With such feelings, we read upon the summit of Sinai the Ten Com- 

• Deut. ii. 10. 
V«>L. XXVI II. « 


mandments in the original tongue^the surrounding neighbourhood 
wonderfully corresponcQng to their strength and simple sabumity. The 
words penetrated our hearts ; and we seemed to hear the thunder of the 
Almighty, and to catch the tone of the trumpet exceeding loud. It 
was Saturday evening — Sabbath-day. Perfect rest reigned over ihe 
face of nature, and no trace of animation was visible. We felt irreab- 
tibly raised to a state of holy Sabbath repose. We stood upon the spot 
which the three great religions of the earth, which confess one true 
God, amounting to nearly half the human race, have looked with vene- 
ration. Jews, Mahommedans, and Christians, here worship the Omni- 
potent, their God.'— Pp. 121—124. 

It is impossible to read these remarks without being deeply 
impressed with the truth they embody, with the Tastness of the 
subject they embrace, and the fervent spirit of a God-inspired 
faith which pervades the whole. Truly blessed are they who can 
think, and feel, and speak as does the pious licentiate of theology! 
Theirs is that happiness and peace wnich passeth all understand- 
ing, and is the portion only of the children of God. 

Among the learned, but chiefly among those who haTe yiuted 
the Holy Land, many doubts have been raised as to the identity 
of those localities of wnich mention is made in the NewTestamest, 
and which are so intimately connected with tradition. Ab there 
are but few authorities to assist the inquirer in unravelling this 
entangled subject, doubt has, of course, arisen, and the opmioos 
hazarded have been various. Respecting the Sepulchre of our 
Lord, Dr. Strauss remarks : — 

' Many disputes have lately arisen as to whether the Holy Sepulchre 
is really the grave of Christ, and whether the spot shown as the place of 
the crucifixion is really Golgotha. Some have denied as strenuously as 
others have affirmed it. But if the precise historical authentication of 
the spot has not been proved, much less has convincine evidence 
against their genuineness been produced ; and as a probabinty of their 
authenticity remains after the closest scientific investigation, we rea£ly 
follow the almost uninterruptedly transmitted tradition since the death 
of Christ, and recognise in these holy spots Golgotha and the 
Saviour's grave. The fact of their now Ijring within the town does not 
present the shadow of an objection, since Herod Agrippa, ten jsan 
after Christ's death, first enclosed Golgotha within the city, it having 
been previously situated without the first and second walb ; and that 
both the spots have been included in one church since the time of the 
Crusades, is not surprising, since, according to the Scriptures,* the 
garden of Joseph of Arimathca was " in the place where he was cmci* 
fied ;*' besides which, the towns of the ancients were not ao widely 
extended as our modem ideas lead uk to ima^nne : and, indeed, decided 
cause must be shown tn the Christian Church, ere places can be taken 

• John xiz. 41. 42. 


of the love of Him who died * the just for the unjust/ it pre- 
pared these children of the sea to resist the fascinations and to 
expose the falsehood of Popery, when it was introduced among 
them, accompanied by the tender mercies of the notorious Du 
Petit Thouars, and of the commander of the Artemise — Com- 
modore La Place ! 

In the eyes of the agents of the Society for the Propagation of 
the Faith and of their friends, this was a crime of the deepest dye. 
Foiled and disappointed by the rejection of Mariolatry, and the 
worship of wafers and of images, and of dead men, by the Bible- 
reading Tahitians, they vent their spleen by pouring into the 
public ear the foulest accusations against the ^ bigoted and 
ignorant ' Britons, who taught the Tahitians and the natives of 
other islands to read * in their own tongue the wonderful works 
of God.' 

If, however, Mr. Melville acknowledges the missionaries to 
have done this, and, in addition, to have established churches 
and schools, he takes care to balance the admission by declaring 
that they have injudiciously intermeddled in the commercial 
affairs of the natives ; and he quotes Kotzebue to prove that 
they have given them ' a religion that forbids every innocent 
pleasure, cramps and annihilates every mental power ^ and is a 
libel on the Divine Founder of Christianity — a religion that has 
given birth to ignorance, hypocrisy, and hatred, to all other 
modes of faith.' Mr. Melville, by quoting this precious mar- 
ceau, endorses it ; and it must be remembered that this is said of 
the religion of the Bible, the religion contained in the doctrinal 
articles of the Church of England, and substantially taught in 
the Reformed Churches of Europe ! That Kotzebue, a Russian, 
and a disciple of that miserable conglomeration of absurdities — 
the Greek Church, should speak thus, we can easily under- 
^ stand. We should as soon expect him, or any other instrument 
* of despotism, to eulogize constitutional liberty, the right of 
public speaking, or the freedom of the press, as that he should 
understand, or value, liberty of conscience, resistance to Jesuitism 
If and priestcraft, or the simplicity and purity of scriptural Chris- 
tianity. What we are surprised at is, the unblushing and un- 
faltering audacity manifested in quoting this passage as an 
honest description of the result of missionary labours m Tahiti. 
And its adoption by Mr. Melville not only unmasks his true 
character, but prepares us for his affirmation, that the conversion 
of the members of the native churches must be ascribed, * not to 
appeals to the reason,' but to ' authority, of some kind or other, 
exerted through the chiefs, and prompted by the hope of some 
worldly benefit,^ 

But this is not all. What Mr. Melville does, he does tho- 


roughly. He gives not an outline, but a carefully drawn 
picture. Not content with general statements such as we have 
already quoted, he descends to particulars, and repeats the? 
assertions of the organs of Catholicism respecting the share which 
the English missionaries took in the expulsion of the Jesuit<i, 
Laval and Caret, from Tahiti. He says, — 

' Now, that the resident English missionaries authorized the banish- 
ment of these priests, is a fact undenied by themselves. I was also 
informed that, by their inflammatory harangues, they instigated the 
riots which preceded the sailing of the schooner.' — P. 91. 

' Melancholy as such an example of intolerance must appear on the 
part of Protestant missionaries, it is not the only one, and by no means 
the most flagrant one, which might be presented.* — P. 92. 

Melancholy indeed, say we, if it were true ; happily, as the 
sequel will show, we are wholly indebted for these examples of 

* Protestant intolerance* to the fertile brain of the author of 
' Omoo.' But ho coolly aflBrras that the missionaries * never 
denied the charge' which he alleges against them. Did they not i 
We wonder where Mr. Melville got his information. Did he 
ever read the documents laid before the public by the Directors 
of the London Missionary Society in 1843 ? Did he know any- 
thing of the * Memorial* addressed to the Secretary of State for 
Foreign Affairs by a public meeting of the ' supporters and 
friends of Protestant missions* assembled in Exeter Hall, on 
Wednesday, the 12th of April of the same year ? Was he aware 
of the statements made in the House of Commons on this subject, 
on the evening of the 28th of March, 1843, when the late Sir 
Bobert Peel declared that Hhe missionaries in Tahiti had so 
conducted themselves as to merit the respect and care of the 
British Government ? ' Did Mr. Melville acquaint himself witli 
the * contradictions ' — contradictions fortified by an appeal to 
facts, to the existing laws of the island, and to eye-witnesses — 
sent forth to the world by the men whom he asperses ; and 
which were published at the time in the Protestant journals of 
France, Switzerland, Germany, and Grejit Britain i If he, icitA- 
out inquirv, has again tried to fasten this charge upon the mis- 
sionaries by saying they ' never contradicted it,* where is his 
honesty ? But if acquainted with the published replies of the 
missionaries and of the Directors of the London ^lissionary 
Society, what must we say of his unscrupulous dishonesty ? 

For the advantage ol this gentleman, who, in his prefac^e, 
advertises his careful observance of truth, we beg to inform him 
that his friends were not banished by the authority of the mis- 
sionaries, neither did they excite the people against them by 

* inflammatory speeches.' The simple facts are these. On the 


her— which, by the hot tears of innumerable believers, and the ex- 
iences of mercies there enjoyed by many sorrowing hearts, are 

ciated with all that is most holy and consecrated on earth. 
•The Chnrch of the Holy Sepulchre stands upon a rocky eminence, 
lining steeply to the north and east. It properly consists of three 
nt chapels, united in one church. Near the entrance to the south 
t of the Crucifixion ; to the west, that of the Holy Sepulchre ; 

to the east, united with the long nave of the Greek C^turch, is the 

pel of the Discovery of the Cross. . . . 

We will not reason about the traditions respecting other places 

ide Gblgotha and the Holy Sepulchre, devoted to the edification of 
i devout ; if the events did not occur on the very spots, they must 
re taken place a few paces distant ; and the pious heart will wil- 
gly be reminded by visible objects of the transactions these holy 
ices commemorate. They were formerly divided between eight dif- 
ent nations, but since the last conflagration, belong almost exclu- 
ely to the Greeks, who have left the Latin, Armenian, Coptic, and 
nan Christians, only a few spots for the celebration of their worship, 
e Latins call their chapel that of the Appearance, because here the 
ttd appeared to Mary his mother, after the resurrection. The Arme- 
ns possess the chapel of Helena ; the Copts have only a small chapel 
the west of the grave ; and the Syrian Christians another xmder the 
of the western side of the rotunda. Several of the monks and 
of the four nations constantly linger about the church for the 
performance of the service ; and many of the pilgrims spend 

le days and nights there, a custom that does not contribute much to 
e external cleanliness and dignity of the church. It is generally 
ut, and the provisions are received through a hole ; but on Sundays 
d holidays it is open at the hours of service. It cannot, unfortu- 
tely, be a matter of regret that a Turkish guard is there to keep 
er ; for otherwise the contentions of the Christians would be still 
rcer than at present.' — Pp. 187 — 191. 

Another brief extract, and we have done. 
In reading the account given of the Bedouins, their manner of 
^,&c., which, as far as correctness is concerned, is borne out by 
statements of other recent travellers, the learned Tischendorff 
>ng the rest, we were particularly struck with some remarks 
the present religious state of that singular people, which well 
^e the attention of our missionary socieries : — 

* Their religion,' says Dr. Strauss, ' is very simple ; they, indeed, call 
iemselves Mohammedans, but very few keep the fasts, or make pil- 
kges to Mecca. The Koran is almost unknown; and mosques 
ty have none. Their religion has remained the same as it was at the 
of Abraham ; it is faith in God, who made heaven and earth — who 
enthroned in heaven, and from whom every good gift comes. They 
to obtain his favour by strict rectitude, until he calls them from 
ranks of the living. As their tenets are less opposed to the Chris- 
faith than those of many other nations, it would be easier for mis- 

o 2 


sionaries to work among them ; and if the efforts of true Christian lore 
were successful in arousing them from their reli^ous indifference, 
which, imhappily, has hitherto been entirely unattemptcd, they would 
become Hying, earnest members of the Church.* — P. 135. 

From the extracts we have given, the reader will perceive 
that ^ Sinai and Gok[otha' is a work of no common order. To 
convince himself of this, we strongly recommend its perusal ; 
the more so, as the English version is both futhfiil and elegant, 
and furnishes a very favourable specimen of the skill and know- 
ledge of the translator. 

Abt. YUl.—OaUUopte of Works of Anment and MMtwai AH, 
exhibiUd at the house of the Society of Arts. London. 1850. 

The temporary collection recently open under the above title, at 
the Society of Arts, has been of a character previously unknown to 
England ; and in its comprehensiveness and exceecun^ precioiu- 
ness, unrivalled, perhaps, in Europe. The value of such col- 
lections has been practically recognised in almost every leading 
Continental city. By the English Government alone — above 
all by its delegates, whose office it is to be styled ' Ihatees * of 
our national museums and galleries— has this value, in common 
with so much else, been ignored. One exception must be made, 
in favour of the Museum of Economic Geology — an institution, 
into the management of which more vitality and common sense 
have been infused, than into that of any of its fraternity. Orna- 
mental art as connected with manufacture, and thus with 
science, is here partially illustrated. Espedallv we would 
notice a series of English pottery, recently purcnased, which 
will be accessible when the museum is reopened in its new loca- 
tion in Piccadilly. Until that step was taken, the country which 
has so greatly distinguished itself in this branch of art- 
manufacture, supplied no means of forming an acquaintance 
with the history and progress of such manufacture. The 
Museum at Sevres was tne nearest point at which such informa- 
tion could be gained. 

Towards a comprehensive practical History of Art, and of 
Civilization as represented by Art, in those remains which afford 
the most direct and suggestive of all ethnographical evidence, 
nothing has been systematically attempted. 1 ne British Museum, 
it is well known, has been formed without plan, and managed 
without intelligence — too common a case, in such matters, untor- 


tunately, with us English. The valuable accumulations it contains 
have been mainly the result of accident — whether chance pur- 
chaseSy or miscellaneous contributions from private liberality. 
In the department of art this is pre-eminently illustrated. Such 
material in this direction as it contains is at once special and 
incomplete: a very splendid series of Etruscan and Greek 
pottery, and of Greek sculpture; an assemblage of Egyptian 
antiquities ; a recent accession from Nineveh ; while the remain- 
ing links in the great series of universal history are left altogether 
unrepresented, with some few fragmentary exceptions. 

The value of such a collection as that of the Society of Arts, 
though in their case necessarily restricted by its temporary cha- 
racter, and by the exclusion of the unpaying public, is of a very 
high order, and twofold: in supplying facilities, first, for im- 
pressing true principles on the designer ; secondly, for enlarging 
the knowledge of the public. High credit must be accorded to 
that more intelligent party in the society, who, opposed, we 
regret to state, by a self-interested and mechanical section of the 
members, have, among other good works, carried out the above 
scheme ; with the co-operation of a numerous body of antiqua- 
rians and collectors. When we consider the impromptu nature 
of the collection, the success of their efforts was remarkable; and 
also, very significant evidence of the vast amount of artistic 
treasure dispersed through private cabinets in England. 

On one point, we have a serious complaint to make : the 
utter absence of Method, the slovenly neglect of rational 
sequence in the arrangement. As a result, one chief benefit of 
the collection — its historic teaching — wajs, for the general public, 
lost. The * Catalogue * is systematic ; based upon the principle 
of classification according to material. And the succinct sum- 
maries prefixed to each classified group deserve great praise, for 
their intelligence and appropriateness ; contributing to render the 
Catalogue what, as a whole, it undeniably is — a valuable permanent 
record. But the arrangement of the collection itself was any- 
thing but a worthy companion ; casting great discredit on whom- 
soever were concerned in it. The guiding motive seemed to 
have been simply the production of a Shoto ; of mere prettiness of 
effect, worthy the ambition of the Housemaid of the establish- 
ment. But for the value of the articles displayed, we should 
have believed that functionary, or, perhaps, an assistant from a 
neighbouring shop in the Strand, had been the presiding genius. 
In all future attempts, we counsel the Society to call in, not the 
taste of the housemaid and the showman, but the aid of common 
sense and of a cultivated insight. And then, instead of a Raree- 
show, we shall have an instructive, embodied Text-book. In the 
first case, we have goldsmith's work of all ages promiscuously 


huddled together or dispersed; examples of three or foar 
separate epochs of pottery mingled indiscriminately ; and to one 
kind (Henry IT. of France ware), a place apportioned among 
ivories and wood- carvings ; of these latter, again, other specimens 
scattered elsewhere. In the second, we snould have one con- 
sistent, ordered series, grouped strictly according to material, 
and, above all, chronologically, and in distinct sections : so that, 
even at the first glance, a meaning should be obvious to the 
most cursory observer; and by others, more attentive, a 
comprehensive historic summary be read. Even to the con- 
noisseur, such a series would be highly interesting; though 
he could dispense with it — ^possessing within his own mind the 
key to such a disjointed nightmare of an arrangement as the 
Society's. But by half the visitors of the late collection, we 
doubt whether any but the vaguest notions were brought away : 
of general splendour of efiect, and preciousness of art, realixed 
in tne productions of many ages. The patient comparison of 
catalogue and collection, and the mental CTort requisite for iin* 
raveUing the net, few were likely to give. This result was the 
more lamentable, as the sacrifice of method was needless. In any 
case, splendour of efifect had been inevitable. 

We have one other suggestion to make to the Society, or its 
managers : that a more lioeral courtesy be shown in forwarding 
the views of such, as like ourselves, may be desirous of frequent- 
ing their exhibitions for a literary purpose. 

The immediate purpose of the exhibition was to aid, indirectly, 
our manufacturing efforts for the Great Exhibition of 1851 ; to 
supply an influence for good upon English design. The col- 
lection was certainly relevant in that aspect ; but the ensuing 
interval is too brief, and our present system, or no-system, of 
decorative design, too firmly established, to allow much room for 
hope in this direction. Invigorated copyism we shall undoubtedly 
have, of some of the myriad forms of beauty thus assembled. How 
far this is in itself desirable, is more than questionable. The real 
benefit which could not but accrue, is of a far more certain and 
unmixed character : the popularizing works of highest beauty, 
and the witnesses of hoalthful systems of artistic working ; the 
indirect enforcement of true principles, and the direct increase 
of the general knowledge of times too little understood at the 
present day by the majority. Through such means as these, 
quite a new light may reveal itself to the eyes of many. New 
aspects of the past, and new relations of the old to the new, will, 
one by one, present themselves to those not wholly incapable of 
thought. But the exhibition was too temporary an one to ac- 
iouiplish very much, even in this way ; to complete the work it 
btf^an. The phrase most current amon^ the visitors was still. 


haw curious! rather than, how true! or, than better still, perhaps, 
no phrase at all, but silent digestion of the lessons wiui which 
those works of art were pregnant. Irreverent wonder, or vague 
adnuration, rather than intelligent appreciation, were, the pre- 
vailing feelings. The most are still unprepared for the study of 
such things ; for apprehending them from the right point of 

' Ancient and Mediaeval,' the exhibition was stvled. But the 
latter and larger section was medis&val in a very loose sense ; as 
much or more Cinquecento and Benaissance. A greater pro- 
portion of work purely mediaeval, as also of mediaeval English 
work, was much to have been desired. The perfection attained 
in all strictly decorative design of the thirteenth and fourteenth 
centuries, similar to that realized in the architecture, of which 
it was the attendant, would then have been more obviously and 
adequately enforced. This preponderance of sixteenth and 
seventeenth century-work was an inevitable consequence, per- 
haps, of the prevailing direction in which the attention of our 
ordinary collectors is aroused ; and of the far greater paucity 
of remains from the more remote periods. 

Classic antiquity was represented by a series of Etruscan 
pottery, and Boman bronzes, and cameos. From the East, were 
a few dioice scattered examples : embossed and enamelled wea- 
pons ; specimens of Damascene work ; and, above all, an exqui- 
sitely graceful, faery vase, lovely in contour, and purely oriental 
in ornamentation — outline subordinated to the most delicate 
effects of colour, produced by lapislazuli and precious stones : 
a vase this, eloquent of the magic and fancy of the * Thousand- 
and-One Nights.' 

Tlius, the three leading divisions of ornamental production, in 
which true principles have been exemplified, after three so distinct 
types — classic antiquity, the mediaeval time, and the Oriental 
nations — all, in one way or another, put in their appearance. An 
exhibition, permanent or temporary, of sufficient extent to admit 
the adequate illustration, not only of mediaeval, but also of classic 
and Oriental art, would, indeed, be necessarily large ; but also, 
inconceivably rife with significance and suggestion. It would 
place before us, by proxy, all hitherto-realized, true develop- 
ments. By the Orientals, especial attention would be claimed, 
for a due representation of the general case ; — of the relations 
borne by the ornamental art of the East, to the other members 
in the great family group of universal art. 

There was, however, no lack of significance in the array of 
works mostly mediaeval or akin, to which the exhibition in ques- 
tion was confined. The universal application of art — and of art 
in directions with which we of the present day aic little accus- 


tomed to connect it, even in thought-=-wa8, perhaps, of all the 
mute utterances conveyed, in the general effect, the mo«t pronii* 
nent and irresistible. Throughout every material, throughout 
every stage in the continuance of the mediaeval spirit, so long as 
it existed at all, however transmuted, we found the same unmis- 
takcablc impress of art y of devotion of studious human thought 
and patient human labour, to this one end — the imparting a har- 
monizing, aesthetic significance to every work of man's hand ; of 
an outward speech to the dumb utility. The objects exhibited 
were, for the most part, costly examples of this system ; the 
more elaborate illustrations of principles, in substance, equally 
demonstrable through simpler work. The ability for the 
aesthetic tiansmutation of utilitarian objects, is equally manifest 
throughout those times which we may call the Artistic ; and even 
though the article were a novel one, as a time-piece, the very 
introduction of which did not take place till late in the period 
under review. Whether it be golden chalice or ironJock, em- 
broidered cope or earthenware dish, the prijsed reliquary pre- 
served with religious care in the sanctuary, or the armour to be 
shivered on the morrow bv the hostile spear, nay, the very sword- 
blade itself; all speak conclusively , to the same spirit >-*to the lavish 
clothing with art of every production of man's ingenuity ; the 
earnest endeavour towards harmonizing his works, even as God's 
works are harmonized ; the emulation of nature ; the union of 
use and beauty ; of the eloquent spiritual speech with the mate- 
rial result of mechanical power. The mediaeval artist, too,had often 
more difficult problems to solve than the Grecian ; and just in 
those cases where the utmo:^t cost was lavished. The Grreek 
had never to convert to the purposes of art, an object intrin- 
sically so little adapted to that end, as a reliquary : a severed 
hand or foot in metal, or a heart, representing the supposed 
sacred treasure within. Yet this we see effected m the mediKval 
workman's hands ; and not alone by the expenditure of mere 
wealth of material, of which there was truly sufficient ontlay, 
but of art also, through the agency of ornamentation, of studied, 
and often exquisite character. 

One of the most remarkable facts witnessed by the exhibition, 
was the comparatively recent period down to which refined artistic 
feeling and execution survived in European ornamental art. In 
goldsmith's work, the old traditions seem es{>eciaUy to have lin- 
gered, until a very late epoch. Of Charles II.'s time, the EngUsh 
works in gold, though of questionable merit in form, diX^ executed 
witli truest artistic skill, and on right principles ; with freedom fix>m 
incongruousness and excesbive pretence. One of the fairest gk>ries 
of the collection, for urtibtic conception, and fiir the beauty of its 
workmanship, wa!> a work in ivory and Kold, of the Norwegian 


artiste-Magnus Berger, of the end of the seventeenth century. 
The same state of art is illustrated in other materials. There was 
an embroidered coverlid of the beginning of the eighteenth cen- 
tatjf as harmonious in colour, good in effect, and true in prin- 
eiplk^ as though it had belonged to the golden time. The early 
European porcelain again, of the same date, manifests a feeling 
for form and colour, it would be vain to look for in the perfected 
manui&cture of the concluding part of the same century. And 
testimony, we well know, might have been supplied to a similar 
effect, by classes of production of that time, wholly imrepresented 
on the late occasion: wrought-iron work, wood-carving, hand- 
worked plaster, &c. The fact is, far more of the old life men sur- 
vived in ornamental art, than in the higher art. More of the old 
culture in workmanship was still traditionally carried down in the 
work-shop. And the less the pseudo-classic, architectural forms 
of the day were introduced in the system of decoration, in other 
words, the more it was purely ornamental, the greater the success. 
The period, moreover, of which we speak — the close of the seven- 
teenm, and beginning of the eighteenth centuries — was imme- 
diately precedent to one of Transition ; of transition to a new 
qrstem : from education of the art-workman in the workshop, to 
education in the school, or — as in England — to none at all ; and 
from handwork to machine-work : that system, not as some would 
have^ necessarily too strong for art ; too strong, only because our 
art has hitherto been too weak. 

Still more notable than the comparatively late date of good 
ornamental art, is the earliness of it; in its strictly indivi- 
dual character, as distinguished from capability for correct 
design of the human form. In the exhibition, there were not 
many examples of Byzantine workmanship, such as would most 
conclusively have manifested this. But among the costly 
remnants of the luxury and pomp of the mediaeval Church, were 
Romanesque {ox ante -Gothic) and early Gothic examples: 
enamelled croziers, crosses, reliquaries, &c. ; wherein, though 
the representation of the human form is a mere distortion, yet 
true principles, of duly coventionalized natural type, harmonized 
blending of colour, strict subordination and congruity of ornament, 
legitimate flatness of ornament, and others, are sdl, to the full 
obeyed ; far more consistently, in fact, than in the later Gothic 
time — still more than in the cinquecento. And, as purely orna- 
mental art is considered, a justness and beauty of effect are 
realized, not to be surpassed. 

To take the exhibition in detail, the majority of the ex- 
amples may be divided into two classes. First, are those, just 
as characteristic of the medieval period, as of the sixteenth and 
seventeenth centuries : — namely, goldsmith's work ; works in 


enamel, in nieUo ; iron-work ; ecnlptnre in wood, ivory, &c. ; 
armour, and embroidery. Secondly, come those dasMs of pro- 
duction of which the beginning is due to the earlier, but which 
attained their full development in the later, period : ornamental 
domestic glass, decorated pottery, clock*work, bronzes. These 
arts take a wholly different aspect, accordinffly, as viewed or 
not, in these their legitimate relations. The lastrnamed classes 
are, in substance, characteristic of the era of ^ Revival/ and more 
especially of Italv. The former are equally, and, in some 
cases stiU more, characteristic of the mediaeval time ; and indi- 
genous to Europe generally. 

The distinguishmg artistic feature separating the period of 
^ Revival ' firom earher time, and Italy from the rest of Europe, 
is the extreme refinement developea at that time and in that 
country, in executive skill, and in all wherein superiority of 
higher design had play. We see this, in the modelling of the 
figure in goldsmith's work, in the delicacy of wotlbnanship 
in the jewellery of that palmy era ; as much as in the exquisite 
cameo, and the general perfection, technic and Ksdietic, of the 

Equally characteristic is the choice of sul^^ed. During the 
fourteenth 2cad. fifteenth centuries, subjects taken from Soriptore, 
or from ecclesiastic tradition, — Christ, the Trinity, or other 
dominant symbol, — adorned the warrior's armour as the priest's 
vestment ; the early decorated earthenware dish as the sacred 
chalice. The sculptures in ivory, in wood, in stone, all-— with 
an occasional exception in favour of popular Bomance, the 
literary lever of the time — are occupied with sacred, or tradi- 
tionally sacred, story ; with ' Virgin, Saint, and Babe.' In the 
sixteenth century, on the other hand, shield or breastplate, e^ch 
precious vessel not for the immediate service of the Church, 
each costly luxury — ^the ivory, the bronze, the ridi enamel — all 
bear witness to the same great change in feeling, in the reigning 
artistic religion. Classic myth and classic history rule sniNreme. 
For Guardian Saint, wc have ' Scenes from the Life of Jolina 
Ceesar ;' for Virgin and Magdalen, Diana and nymphs ; for 
Christian symbol, bacchanal and satyr. 

In form^ we see in mediseval decorative art an artistic ten- 
dency, wholly distinct from the classic ; as distinct as was that 
of its architecture and its sculpture, and in like manner cfaarao- 
tcristic. The leading lines in the form of a Gothic cup or other 
vessel, are as individual as those of a Gothic building. Per- 
fection of purely lesthetic refinement is exchanged for the pre- 
dominance of character and suggestivcness. it was the most 
fatal loss in the mixed styles of the fifteenth (trans-Alpine) 
and sixteenth centuries, that, in forsaking the settled Gothic 


formSy and the margin of their ordered freedom^ they fell 
into mere uncertainty and confusion. Missing the purity of the 
classic models on the one hand, and unguided by Gh>thic 
feeling on the other, they could realize but a jumble of their 
own, untrue to any system of aesthetic lines; though, as we 
have said, the omamentiits of that time made up for such short* 
comings, by previously unriralled finish and executive power, 
and ako by the fullest luxuriance of * motived — of thought, within 
their range of pseudo-classic subject And the memorable men, 
CeOim, Albert Dtirer, Solbein, &c., who have lent such lustre 
to that period, and earned for themselves so high and individual 
a renown-^widely difSsrent in their fisite firom their unrecognised 
predecessors — were men who would have occupied the foremost 
place at any era. 

In the precious metals, many of the exhibited examples of 
late Italian work, such as the glorious series representing the 
Triumphs of the Dorias, were of surpassing beauty ; for the art 
and sldU lavished upon diem, the truth and delicacy of the model- 
ling, the nicety of the execution. We trace, however, in these 
very aspects an aberration from the true principles of decora* 
tionr^of art subservient, that is, as distinct from art dominant. 
The system which has run such great lengths in our own day, 
of confounding these two, of converting ornament into the over* 
layino; of independent, incoherent design, is due in its ori^, to 
that time ; with this difference : then, the utmost artistic skill was 
employed, and the artist and workman followed one style, and that 
one their own ; now, there is the dearth of such skill, and the 
^ut of ^ styles.' Decoration began to be not ministrant, but the 
main feature. This is incidentally manifested, in the turning 
enamels into pictures : the change from encrusted and translucid, 
to painted enamel. Not only, as we have just seen, in their 
characteristic forms, but in obedience to the natural conditions 
of decorative design, — from which the earlier artists had not 
learned to wander, traditionally and half instinctively adhering 
to them, do the works of preceding time, in gold and silver, enamel. 
Sec., occupy the highest place. As an example of the utmost 
splendour, combined with due subservience of decoration, we 
would refer to the elaborate and consummately beautiful King 
John (of France) cup, of the fourteenth century — the palmy 
time with Gothic art. 

In wrought iron-work, a few specimens, of perforated panels, 
of locks, keys, coffers, &c., were exhibited ; very valuable as 
illustrative of the art and character developed in this material, 
in the mediseval period, for the most utilitarian purposes. Some 
means, also, of comparing earlier simple work, with the florid 
detail of later Gothic and cinqueccnto, were afforded. A much 


fuller series could alone properly illustrate the resources and 
progressive changes of mediieval iron-work. 

Among sixteenth- century works, the exhibition was eminently 
rich in those, wherein the adranced design of the time enabled 
the artist to realize before-nnapproached excellence, of its kind. 
The assemblage of ivories, wood-carvings, bronzes, and Dama* 
scene work, it was, in which that time was represented, with 
peculiar emphasis, and irresistible effect. The ivories of Flamingo, 
the shield of Cellini, the elaborate rosary of Holbein — these are 
productions commanding unqualified homage. Never was art 
carried further in such matters. 

The series of sixteenth and seventeenth century Italian and 
German pottery was of high interest ; though in value marred, 
by mal-arran^ement. In the earlier examples of the German 
wares, we had adherence to sacred illustrations. In the Italian, 
by some brilliantly enamelled majolica ware, with its elaborate 
classic designs, ample testimony was borne to the re^;ning 
classic dynasty of the time. One or two early specimens there 
were, however, wherein sacred types, or * arabesque' design — 
of a class, to our mind the most appropriate, most purely orna- 
mental, — witnessed the lingering influence of religion on the 
one hand, and of the original moresque models on the other. 
The variance of excellence from the high-class drawing and 
colour of the sixteenth, to the far lower art of the seventeenth 
century, was also illustrated; to those taking the trouble to 
single the one from the other, amid the general medley of the 
Society's arrangement. In Colour, the peculiar richness for 
which this ware is famed, had a most striking and beautiful effect ; 
not only in each of the separate examples, but in the general mass, 
as they were grouped together ; the whole forming at a distance, 
a true painter's ' JtV.' The few specimens of the Palissy and 
Henry ll. (of France) wares, exhibited that questionable mix- 
ture and grotesqueness of form, combined with genuine origin 
nality, the esthetic characteristics of those styles. 

The scries of Venetian and German glass offered much interest- 
ing suggestion. The high species of art emploved in the en- 
graving of the Venetian ornamental glass, was well illustrated hj 
many small articles ; and, above all, by some mirrors, bcarins 
engraved central figures, as well as engraved decorations azound 
the rim. Of the enamel-painting of the German glass there were 
specimens, interesting both for their technical success, and ibt 
tnoir prevailing character of subject — allegorical or homely; 
manifesting a nationality very distinct from that of the Vene- 
tian manufacture. The same thing is obvious in the German 
types of form ; these being individual and characteristic. The 
prevailing spirit of the Venetian forms i»», in like manner, widely 


opposed to that alternation of miscellaneoas copyism with spas- 
modic attempts at ' novelty, ^ of our own day. These forms bear 
die impress of an active and real school of art ; are either happy 
and original adaptations of the antique, or fresh experiments, 
sometimes refined, sometimes grotesque, but always genuine and 

Aj8 manufactures, upon which the last stage of a living system 
of European art had exerted its influence, these two classes, of pot- 
tery and glass, together with that of clodc-work, have an interest 
of their own, and meaning, for us of the present day. There 
were many misceUaneous features in the exhibition we cannot 
here stay to notice. The especial value of the exhibition 
ccmsisted, and its especial teaching for the modern designer — 
and still more, perhaps, for the modem student of Art — and of 
the Past, lay in its testifying, generally, to the purely decora- 
tive design of the Middle Ages, in all its reality and fulness of 
tife« and refinement of skill. 

Ajtx. IK.—^Elem^iafy Sketches of Moral Philosophy, delivered at the 
Royal Institution, in the Years 1804, jlSOd, and 1806. By the 
late Bey. Sydney Smith, M.A. London : Longman and Co. 

How much discussion would be spared, if psychology and ethics 
had a terminology as accurate as mathematics, or as expressive 
as chemical science. Words are the veriest tyrants, and they 
have a power which tyranny can seldom gain — the power of 
exciting intense attachment on the part of those who submit to 
their authoritv. Every day men are framing the absurdest pro- 
positions, and are prepared to kill and die in their defence. 
Thousands have been burnt or hanged before now for maintain- 
ing (for example) or denying that * common terms ' represented 
actually existing things. Tne affirmative proposition has really 
no meaning; and yet some of the severest struggles of the 
Middle .^es originated in discussions connected with it, and 
whole nations were excommunicated for denying it. Happily 
that question is settled; but others remain. Definition and 

frammar are stiU, therefore, among the great instruments of 
uman happiness. They overturn the tyranny of speech, and 
free us from the chains of that horrible logocracy by which the 
minds of men are so often enslaved. 


We insist the more on the importance of definitions, in 
noticing the work named at the head of this article, because, 
while It may do mnch to strike off those chains, it does some- 
thing, in its very title, to rivet them. It contains sketches on 
moral philosophy without a word on morals. This apparent 
confusion is, no doubt, apolo^zed for and defended by some 
illustrious examples ; but it will certainly injure the book ; and 
it contributes to the perpetuation of a vicious nomenclature, 
entirely needless. Every one knows what is meant bv natural 
phenomena, and that these phenomena form the basis of pky- 
steal science ; what by mental phenomena, and that they form 
the basis oi mychohgieal science; and what by moral pheno- 
mena, and that they form the basis of what ought to be called 
ethical science. This appropriation of epithets of Latin origin 
to the phenomena, and of epithets of Greek origin to the 
sciences, is so obvious and convenient that all writers oog^t to 
adhere to it. At all events, the distinction between natural « 
mental, and morale ought to be preserved : the first two inclu- 
ding the science of facts, natural and mental ; and the last, the 
science of duties, in their origin and relations. 

This nomenclature, it will be noticed, makes no use of the 
word metaphysics — a word of * dire sound and horrible import,* 
which may be reserved with advantage for another purpose. 
It has really no relation to its meaning, however that meaning 
may be defined ; and as a word is wanted to deeigoate a large 
department of human inquiry, mental, natural, and moral, we 
venture to suggest that this term be applied to it Aristotle 
classed under this term all those sciences which men may be 
supposed to study after-physics — such as rhetoric, politieal 
science, and logic. And this is its meaninff with him— Hrfber* 

[>hysic8. More modem writers have confined it to the p^cho- 
ogical department of ethics. Dr. Chalmers wishes it applied to 
a new science, whose business it shall be to treat of the relations 
and connexions of all the sciences. But the most appropriate me 
that can be made of it is, as we submit, to apply it to the science 
of abstractions. In physics, the ideas of space, timei notion, 
and substance, are properly abstract ideas ; as is the question of 
what constitutes the essence of virtue, whether emotion or actioii, 
in ethics. In psychology the nature of the soul belongs to the 
same class. In all departments of inouiry we find such questions, 
half-external, half-mental ; and if the whole were regarded as 
belonging to metaphysics, our nomenclature would be to fiir 
complete. Metaphysics is, therefore, on this principle, the 
science of abstract terms, whether these be formed from physics, 
psychology, or ethics ; an arrangement not without the authority 
of great names, though, unhappily, not so generally recognised 
as we think it deserves. 


Applying these definitions to the work before us^ it may be 
said to treat not of ethics^ but exclusively of psychology, the 
sdepce of the mind, in its two-fold province — ^the intellectual 
and the active ; and these provinces it examines in relation both 
to the abstract and the practical. 

So regarded, these lectures are peculiarly interesting, and the 
author's friend and adviser. Lord Jeffrey, has done well in re- 
commending Mrs. Smith to publish the volume, that the public 
at large may have the pleasure and benefit of perusing it. Of 
several of the lectures, but fragments have been preserved ; and 
though we do not regard them as sibylline leaves, we concur in 
the judgment, that the book is ^ frdl of good sense, acuteness, 
and right feeling; is very clearly and pleasingly written; and with 
such an admirable mixture of logical intrepidity, with the 
absence of all dogmatism, as is rarely met with in such dis- 
cussions/ Happily, the work is not ethical. For such a depart- 
ment, the keen, hard, sarcastic qualities of the author — ^never 
malevolent, however — ^unfitted him ; as they did also for the higher 
department of theology. But as it is psychological, his strong 
sense and shrewd discernment appear to great advantage. It 
may, perhaps, be objected that themes so grave are treated with 
less than becoming dignity. The fault, however, should be for- 
^ven for its rarity, and those who have learnt to connect the 
idea of dull propriety with metaphysical discussions, may readily 
find an opportunity elsewhere of pursuing their studies without 
shocking dieir prejudices or vitiating their taste. 

The qualities of these lectures ma^ be best tested by a perusal 
of X. and xi. on wit ; of xvii. and xviii. on the faculties of animals 
and of men ; and of ix. and xix. on the conduct of ike under- 
standing. The first two display very considerable analytical power 
— the last admirable sense ; and the second exhibits all the cha- 
racteristic humour of Peter Plymley's Letters * to my brother 
Abraham.' After quoting the well-known description of Barrow 
— that wit ' sometimes lieth in a pat allusion to a known story, 
sometimes it is lodged in a sly question, &c.,' and objecting to it 
as an exemplification, rather than an explanation, of what he had 
to define, the lecturer proceeds to criticise various definitions. 
Dryden defined it ' as propriety of thoughts and words, or 
thoughts and words elegantly adapted to the subject' * And yet,' 
says Mr. Smith, * I never heard "Blair's Sermons" praised for 
their wit ; and Campbell's " Pleasures of Hope " is something 
much better than a witty poem.' Pope defined it as, 

' Nature to advantage drest, 
Oft thought before, but ne'er so well exprest.' 

' Then,' says Mr. Smith, ' the " Philippics " of Demosthenes, 


and the " Funeral Orations" of Bossuet, are witty.' Sir R. 
Blackmore calls it^ ' a series of high and exalted ferments/ Mr. 
Locke's notion is, that it ' consists in putting those ideas togethcnr 
with quickness and variety wherein can be round any resemblance 
or congruity, in order to excite pleasure in the mind' — a defini- 
tion that includes both eloquence and poetry. * Besemblance/ 
moreover^ makes the definition too wide, and quickness of com- 
parison too narrow. ' Wit,' says Johnson, ^ is a combination of 
dissimilar images, or discovery of occult resemblances in things 
apparently unJuke.' To which our author objects, that if it be 
true, the discovery of the resemblance between diamond and 
charcoal is a pure piece of wit, and ' full of the most ingenious 
and exalted pleasantry.' 

On the whole, Campbell's definition is least exceptionable. 
' Wit,' says that clear and strong thinker, * is that which excites 
agreeable surprise in the mind by the strange assemblage of 
related images presented to it:' a definition which is unity, 
because including the sublime and the beautiful, as well as the 
witty : though Mr. Smith thinks, in spite of its defects, the best 
extant in the English language. He himself defines it as ' the 
discovery of those relations in ideas which are calcxdated to excite 
surprise,' and illustrates his definition by various examples. He 
insists, especially, upon the fact, that surprise must be the preva- 
lent feeling, in order to justify the epitnet of witty, and that a 
strong impression of the utility of a relation is injurious to, and of 
its beauty or sublimity is destructive of, its wit. The general 
effect of witty sayings may, indeed, be heightened by strong sense 
and useful truth ; for in such a case the mina readily perceives what 
part of the pleasure arises from the mere relations of ideas, and 
what from their utility. But in the case of what is sublime or 
beautiful, the feeling of witdness is (in Mr. Smith's view) en- 
tirely dormant Rochefoucault's apophthegm, for example, that 
hypocrisy is a homage which vice pays to virtue, is felt to be 
both witty and useful. The Hindoo epigram, * that the good 
man rewards injury with kindness, as tne sandal-wood, while it 
is felling, imparts to the edge of the axe its aromatic flavour,' is, 
on the other hand, too beautiful for wit; and the lines of 
Campbell, in the address to Lochiel, are too mysteriously 
sublime : — 

* *T[b the sunset of life gives me mystic lore. 
And the coming events cast their shadows before,* 

0{ pure wit, several happy examples are quoted, illustrative 
of the distinction which Mr. Smith has drawn. His practical 
remarks on the value and abuse of tliis faculty are admirable : — 

' I wish,' says he, * after all I have said about wit and humour, that 


I could satisfy myself of their good effects upon the character and dLs- 
poation ; but I am convinced the probable tendency of both is to 
c(»Tupt Uie understanding and the heart. I am not speaking of wit 
where it is kept down by more serious qualities of mind ; but where 
it stands out boldly and emphatically, and is evidently ihe master 
quality of any particular mind. ... It must always he probable that a 
mer0 wit is a person of light and fHvolous understanding. His business 
is not to discover relations, of ideas that are tueful^ but to discover the 
more trifling relations, which are only amusing. So far, the world, in 
judging of wiU where it has swallowed up all other qualities, judge 
aright ; but I doubt if they are sufficiently indulgent to this faculty 
where it exists in a lesser degree, and as one of many other ingredients 
of the understanding. There is an association in men*s minds between 
dulness and wisdom, amusement and folly, which has a very powerful 
influence in decisions upon character, and is not overcome without con- 
siderable difficultv. . . . When wit b combined with sense and infor- 
mation ; when it is softened by benevolence, and restrained by strong 
principle ; when it is in the hands of a man who can use it and despise 
it ; who can be witty, and something much better than witty — who loves 
honour, justice, decency, good nature, morality, and religion, ten thou- 
sand times better than wi^— wit is then a beautiful and delightful part 
of our nature, and its effects are seen in '* expanding caution, relaxing 
dignity, unfreezing coldness, extorting reluctant gleams of pleasure 
tram melandioly, and charming even the pangs of grief.'* ' — P. 150. 

Here there is much truth and good sense ; the strains that 
follow are of a still higher mood : — 

' I know of no principle which it is of more importance to fix in the 
minds of young people, than that of the most determined resistance to 
the encroachments of ridicule-^ive up to the world, and to the ridicule 
with which the world enforces its dominion, every triflint^ question of 
manner and appearance. . . . But learn from the earliest days to inure 
your pnneiplee against the perils of ridicule. If you think it right to 
differ from the times, and to make a stand for any valuable point of 
morals, do it, however rustic, however antiquated, however pedantic it 
may appear— do it not for insolence, but seriously and grandly — as a 
man who wore a soul of his own in his bosom, and did not wait till it 
was breathed into him by the breath of fashion. Let men call you 
mean, if you know you are just ; hypocritical, if you are honestly reli- 
gious ; pusillanimous, if you feel that you are firm ; resistance soon 
converts unprincipled wit into sincere respect; and no after-time can 
tear from you those feelings which every man carries within him, who 
has made a noble and successful exertion in a virtuous cause.' — P. 134. 

If we had picked up the following scraps in Cheapsidc, we 
should have sent them, as a matter of course, to the late 
Dean of St. Paul's. They are equal, for strong sense at least, 
to anything he ever wrote : — 

• Another piece of foppery which is to be cautiously guarded against, 


ifi the foppery of universality ; of knowing all sciences and excelling 
in all arts— chemistry, mathematics, algebra, dancing, history, reasoning, 
riding, fencing. Low Dutch, High Dutch, natural philosophy, and 
enough Spanish to talk about Lope de Vega. In short, the modem 
precept of education very often is, " Take Sie admirable Crichton for 
your model ; I would have you ignorant of nothing." Now my 
advice, on the contrary, is, to have the courage to be ignorant of a great 
number of things, in order to avoid the calamity of being ignorant of 
everything. I would exact of a young man a pledge that he would 
never read Lope de Vega ; he would pawn to me his honour to abstain 
from Bettinelli and his thirty-five original sonneteers; and I would 
require from him the most rigid securities that I was never to hear 
anything about that race of '' penny poets " who lived in the reigns of 
Cosmo and Lorenzo di Medici.' — P. 100. 

* The first thing to be done in conducting the imderstanding, is pre- 
cisely the same as in conducting the body — ^to give it regpolar and 
copious supplies of wholesome food, to prevent that atrophy of mind 
which comes on from giving it no new ideas. It is a nustake eqiudly 
fatal to every faculty to think too early that we can live upon our stock 
of understanding — that it is time to leave off business, and make nte 
of the acquisitions we have already made, without troubling ourselves 
any further to increase them. Every day destroys a fact, a relation, or 
an inference, and the only method of preserving the bulk and valoe of 
the pile is by constantly adding to it. ... A man who will not pay 
this price (of hard labour) for distinction, had better at once dedicate 
himself to the pursuit of the fox— or sport with the tangles of Ne»rm*s 
hair — or talk of bullocks, and glory in the goad ! There are many 
ways of being frivolous, and not a few of being useful : there is but 
one mode of being intellectually great.* — Pp. 96, 97. 

Young and old are alike chastised in these pages : — 

* Nothing, in my humble opinion, would bring an understanding so 
forward, as the habit of ascertaining and weighing the opinions of 
others — a point in which almost all men of abilities arc deficient; 
whose first impulse, if they arc young, is too often to contradict ; or, 
if the manners of the world have cured them of that, to listen with 
attentive ears only, but with the most obdurate and imconqaermble 
entrails. I may be very wnmg, and probably am so, but, in the whole 
course of my life, I do not know that I ever saw a man of considerable 
understanding respect the understandings of others as much as he 
might have done for his own improvement, and as it was just 
he should do. ... I touched a little, in my last lecture, upon that 
habit of contradicting into which young men*— «nd young men of 
ability, in particular — are apt to fall ; and which is a habit extremely 
injurious to the powers of the understanding. I would recommend to 
such young men an intellectual regimen, of which I myself, in an 
earlier period of life, have felt the advantage — and that is, to assent to 
the two first propositions that they hear every day ; and not only to 
tissent to them, but, if they can, to improve and embellish them. . . . 
When they have a little got over the bitterness of assenting, they may 


then graduallj increase the number of assents, as their constitntions 
will bear it ; and I have little doubt that, in time, this will effect a 
'-"- and perfect cure.' — ^P. 284. 

To such as are pleased with tl 
recommend this acceptable Tclume. 

Abt. X. — 1. Second Triennial Report of the British Anti^state-ehurch 

2. The Nonconformist, AprU 10, 17, and 24, and May 3, 1850. 

3. The British Banner, April 3, 10, 17, and 24, 1850. 

Although works on prophecy are already numerous^ we 
would fain have one addition — to wit, a collection of the un- 
fulfilled prophecies of uninspired seers. We would have enu- 
merated Uie prognostications with which ignorance and prejudice 
have met some of the most signal achievements of scientific 
and inventive genius ; the forebodings of the unthinking and the 
timid at the progress of ameliorative innovations, and especially 
the vaticinations, conscientious or malignant, never more freely 
indulged in than when it has been sought to apply great 
moral and political truths to the business of legislation and the 
ordinary affairs of life. Such a record could hardly fail to be 
instructive, and would certainly be entertaining. Nor would 
the evidence furnished by it of tne fallibility of human judgment, 
however ripened by culture and exercised with deliberation, be 
the most surprising feature. Passion and feeling would be seen 
dominant over irrefragable reasoning and the stern reality of 
fact ; astute intelligence, hoodwinked, and self-deceived by the 
shallowest delusions ; truth mistrusted and unloved, even while 
receiving ostentatious theoretic homage; virtue, wisdom, and 
patriotism, occasionally in temporary but ill-omened alliance 
with their ancient foes. Most humiliating of all would be the 
apparent disregard, by successive generations, of the lessons 
suggested by the errors and short-sightedness of their pre- 
decessors; and their proneness, even while boasting of their own 
advanced position, to cast obstructions athwart the path of others 
desirous of reaching a point beyond. 

Without wishing to apply them to the occasion, except in 
a very modified degree, we yet acknowledge that these reflec- 
tions have been suggested by the holding of the Second Trien- 
nial Anti-state-church Conference; for, say the committee, in 

H 2 


the Report presented on that occasion, * had the prediction* 
ventured upon by many at the commencement of this enterprise 
been realized, not the second alone, but even the first Triennial 
Conference of the Anti-state-church Association would never 
have assembled.' It will, doubtless, be remembered, that not 
only was the movement regarded as born out of due * time,* but 
its originators were not * the men * for the occasion, and their 
experiment was to issue in a series of follies and disasters. Their 
measures ill-judged, their spirit unlovely, and their langfuage 
intemperate, they were to do serious damage to a cause worthy 
of discreeter championship. Churches were to be divided by 
the introduction of a new element of discord, and authority 
weakened by the unyielding pertinacity of the new propaganda. 
All who refused to co-operate with them were to be the subjects 
of bitter vituperation, and to be constantly pilloried as hoUow 
and half-hearted. Their fierce invectives against the Churdi 
would alienate Churchmen accustomed to reciprocate civilities 
with Dissenters, and their Quixotic pursuit of an abstraction 
would expose Nonconformity to ridicule ; while, by alarming 
Whig statesmen, it would retard the redress of practical griev- 

The only comfort remaining to these prophets of evil was the 
apparent inadequacy of the resources which the crusaders had 
at their command. But few of the Dissenting rulers had believed, 
the official clioues were decidedly hostile, and the metropolis 
especially was but slightly affected by the contagion. Denied 
the means and appliances deemed indispensable for the success 
of Dissenting movements, it could at the best be but a spasmodic 
efiPort. The hot-headed zealots would expend their energies in 
the preliminary outburst, and even the deeper-seated determina- 
tion of others would be worn out by friction with the gigantic 
difficulties to be encountered. Pecuniary embarrassments would 
consummate their failure, and after two or three years of fruitless 
labour the millstone of debt would sink the organization beneath 
the waters of oblivion ! 

We shall make no comments, ill-natured or otherwise, upon 
these predictions ; since we are content to point out their sub- 
stantial, and in many respects egregious, failure. The Anti- 
state-churchmen have had sufficient good sense to avoid running 
their heads against every wall in their way. They are even 
allowed to have displayed some of that judgment and tact 
which become men placed in circumstances of difficulty and 
responsibility. Even unscrupulous recreancy has been com- 
pelled to acknowlcflge that the experiment has been made * with 
the utmost care and well-devised eflbrt ;' and has been marked 
by ' energy, skill, and perseverance, such as are seldom brought 


to any enterprise.'* So far from their platform exercitations 
being largely leavened with acrimonious reflections on unfriendly 
Dissent, they have been more wisely directed to the enlighten- 
ment of perplexed and inquiring Churchmen. Narrowly and 
jealously watched as have been all their movements^ surprisingly 
little has been alleged to their discredit. Such, indeed, has been 
the estimate formed of the general tenor and spirit of their pro- 
ceedings, that even those not identifled with them have not 
withheld the expression of their generous admiration ; and, as 
we happen to know, recent events have led many to avow their 
anxiety that the same temperate and dignified course might be 
yet pursued. Neither have ' the sinews of war ' been wanting, 
the funds, however inadequate for such a work, having been 
obtained with regularity, and year by year been increased ; and 
the Association being still, as it has always been, ' free from the 
entanglement of debt' Most surprising of all, there are even 
now no symptoms of flagging, but the reverse. ' After six years 
of labour,' say the Executive Committee, in their Report to the 
Delegates, ' some of them unmarked by indications of success — ^not 
attracted by the charm of novelty — ^impelled by no artificial stimu- 
lant — ^with the certainty that the wished-for goal is not yet at 
hand, and is deemed by some to be beyond attainment, you are 
assembled, from all parts of the kingdom, to declare, on die part 
of yourselves and of the thousands whom you represent, your 
unshaken faith in the principles of Christian voluntarism, and 
your inflexible purpose to win for them, sooner or later, the 
practical homage of the people of these realms.' 

All this has not been, as in the nature of things it could not 
be, without its efiect on those who, from timidity or distrust, 
hesitated at the outset to connect themselves with the Associa- 
tion. We have among us high-minded and ingenuous individuals, 
too wise to assert their infallibility, and too magnanimous to 
refuse an acknowledgment of mistake — and hence men, like 
the late Dr. Hamilton, and Mr. Ely, and Mr. Hinton, Mr. 
Samuel Morley, and Mr. Davies, with many others in a less 
public sphere, have gracefully acknowledged their shortcomings, 
and identified themselves heartily with the organization. 
Another, and a somewhat numerous class, who still decline 
taking such a step, adopt language greatly diflering from that 
employed a few years since. They speak of the Association and 
its operations in terms of respect, and take particular pains to satisfy 
its friends that with its object they fully sympathize. We are, of 
course, aware that there are others who still openly, and, as we 
allow, conscientiously, avow and manifest hostility to all agitation 
for giving practical effect to Anti-state-church principles. We 

• « British Banner,' April 17, 1850. 


refer to the fact regretftilly, and not without a feeling cyf 
concern for the parties themselves. It is by no means gratifying 
to see men who have been in the van of Dissenting moTements 
gradually consigning themselves to public oblivion. We have 
some knowledge of the extent to which this process of aliena- 
tion is going on, and we predict that^ on tne next occasion 
which calls mto array the hosts of Nonconformity, a conscious 
loss of influence on their part will afford painful evidence of the 
result. We refrain from saying all that occurs to us touching 
another, and less honourable, class of opponents — ^the men who, 
in their coteries, seek to damage the Association by oracular 
whisperings and cowardly inuendos, aimed at its more conspi- 
cuous friends. We are thankfrd that the spirit of mis- 
representation has been driven into comparative privacy ; and 
still more, that these and similar indications of what exists in 
certain quarters of Dissent are attracting the thoughtful attention 
of an increasing class, who are solicitous for conformity to a 
severer standara of virtue than has always been observed in 
the conduct of our public affairs. 

The Second Triennial Conference of the Anti-state-churcfa 
Association was an event which would in any case have been 
anticipated with interest, as an occasion for testing the state of 
public feeling in relation to the society and its object, but 
unlooked-for occurrences invested it with special importance. 
A hitherto friendly journal, supposed to possess considerable 
influence, had suddenly wheeled round into opposition, and ex- 
hausted all its resources to damage the policy it had formerly 
supported ; — another organ of Dissent, also a professed ally, at 
the same time preserving an ominous and suspicious sflence.* 
It was not, however, to be anticipated that an attack of toch a 
kind could seriously, if at all, affect a movement which had 
grown strong by its triumph over far more formidable obstacles. 
The only real ground for apprehension was, the- possibility that 
feelings of disgust and indignation might display themselves in 
unseemly acts and an unchristian temper. 

The Conference, which assembled in the Theatre of the Ci^ 
of London Institution, on the SOth of April last, was in aU 
respects worthy of the occasion, and in harmony with those 
expectations which the previous operations of the Association 
had naturally suggested. In spite of every adverse dreum* 
stance, no less than 550 persons were delegated, or about three 
times the number attending the National Reform Conference, 
held in the previous week — a fact to which we refer, not 
invidiously, but as one worthy of note by those radical reformers^ 

* The * Patriot ' had a highly laudator}' article afttr the Conference had 
assembled, and when iti success was ascertained. 


both in and out of the House^ who regard the Anti-state-church 
movement as too feehle to be taken under their patronage. But 
the number present, however gratifying, was not the most 
significant fact in connexion with this Conference. Most of the 
large towns in England and Wales were represented on the 
occasion* From some of these the number of delegates was 
unusuallY large. Leicester sent a band of 17 ; Norwich^ 13 ; 
Bradford, 8 ; Northampton^ Bristol, and Ipswich, 7 each ; and 
Leeds, 6. The delegates also, in most cases, represented far 
more numerous constituencies than at the first or the second 
Conference. Thus, it was stated, that, whereas the delegates 
from Bristol formerly represented but one or two hundred of 
the inhabitants of that citj, in this instance they were appointed 
by several public meetings, one of them numbering 2,000 
persons, and that convened for the purpose, and sustained 
entirely by local resources. The Manchester delegates also 
were nominated by a meeting of 6,000 persons ; and those fronx 
Birmingham by one nearly as numerous. Scarcely less satis- 
factonr is it to know that many of the smaller places were repre- 
sented by individuals from the spot, instead of, as heretofore, by 
friends resident in the metropolis. For the information of those 
who look less to the muster-roll than to the balance-sheet for the 
criteria of success, we may add, that the amount required to 
defray the expenses of the Conference, about £360,* was raised 
before its sittings had closed. 

Equally favourable and emphatic is the testimony to be borne 
to the spirit which animated the entire proceedings of the 
Conference. Conferences are liable to peculiar perils. An 
assembly of 500 men, with their varied idiosyncrasies, for the 
most part strangers to each other, and assembled under exciting 
circumstances, may be pardoned individual displays of rashness, 
loquacity, or imdue warmth. But the Conference on which 
we are now remarking stands in need of no such apology, 
inasmuch as it was marked by the entire absence of these 
undesirable characteristics. We doubt, indeed, whether anv 
similar body has ever exhibited, in a greater degree, strength 
of conviction combined with dignified circumspection, enthusiasm 
tempered by gravity, and manly decision blended with generous 
and genial feeling. They who looked forward to a display of 
* spleen, malice, rage, misapprehension, perversion, misrepresenta- 
tion, misquotation — everything but downright falsehood ' t — ^ * 

• This includes the cost of subsequently publishing and circulating the 
Keport of the Proceedings, and tiie various papers read at the Confer- 

t British Banner, April 24. 


seasonable addition to their literary capital, were altogether at 
fault in their uncharitable reckoning. The Executive CommiiiM; 
wisely abstained from all reference to what had already received 
undue notice out of doors ; and the Conference appeared to be 
no less resolved that the moral influence of its acts should be 
impaired by no manifestations of mere personal hobtiliiy. 
' There is/ said the Kev. Andrew Keed, in the admirable and 
stirring speech with which he proposed the adoption of the lieport, 
' a noble passage that cannot, be too frequently quoted among us 
— *^ The wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God/* 
If it be asked, what is our answer to rumour, and clamour, and 
objection? I presume our best answer is that of Nehemiah, *' We 
arc doins a great work» and cannot be hindered." ^ 

Largely composed of men of business, the Conference pro- 
ceeded to its allotted work in a business-like spirit, and with a 
commendable desire to discuss broad principles, rather than con- 
sume valuable time in dwelling on minute details. Mention 
should also be made of the wisdom displayed in the selection of 
chairmen, in the persons of Dr. Acworth, Mr. Burnet, and Mr. 
Samuel Courtauld, under whose judicious presidency the pro- 
ceedings were conducted with unbroken regularity and with 
singular unanimity from the commencement to the dose. 

With respect to the proceedings themselves, we must content 

* Wc must not nllow this reference to Mr. llHttl to pass without adverting to 
hiH letters, and thcMe of ])r. CampboU in replv, which were published in the 
* Patriot/ of Mav 16th and 20th. We sliould ^e lorr)* to say all we think of 
the latter. Itatner than liuve penned the dosing Aentencea of Dr. OuopbelPs 
first letter, we would have suffered the loss of a right hand. The English 
languaj^e does not contain anything in worse taste or more abhorrent to the 
(Jhnstian temper, and wo n^ret that Mr. liced did not permit hu indignatioD 
fitting utterance in reply, it is ns though the writer were concerned to gtTe 
The Coiufregational Union still more concluaive evidence of the foUv of com- 
mitting its interests to Iuk temi)er and judgment. Mr. Keed, in his hrst letter. 
challenges the report of the Congregational Union, furnished by the 'Patriot/ 
as * unfair and one-sided/ and siM^cifies several InstanceM in support of his 
allegation. Dr. Camplwll meets this ' with a flat contradiction/ and indulges 
in sweeping charges, which he fails to prove. We have taken tome puns to 
a.scertain from other and perfectly independent sources the truth of the matter, 
and have no hesitation in saving that it lies whollv with Mr. Reed. "We do 
not speak unadvisedlv, but have good autlioritv tor saying that Mr. Reed's 
letter is everywhere tooroughly trustworthy, witnout quibble or supprsaiioii. 
Tlie reply can only be intended to impose on persons not present It is 
Ji>Kuitical and tortuous. Its whole course is along the margin of the tklie, 
and sometimes within it. 

It should be borne in mind, that the * Patriot* and the ' Banner* belong to 
the same proprieUiry, are under the control of the same Business Com- 
mitti*e, uuii are ibbueil hy the sami* juihlisher. The only distinction with 
which we air acquaiiitLd, is that r>r a Kt>|.ani(r editnryhip. Tliese facts will 
rri!»h!<> ihr puldic to I'sfinuiti th« tt-,tinii»iiy h«'rnr \\\ *>uv of these joumalse to 
th«* other. 


ourselves with remarking that the programme was varied and 
comprehensive, and embraced several topics of great practical 
interest at the present period. The schism in the Establ^hment, 
occasioned by the Grorham case, was referred to as an incentive to 
' vigilance, activity ^ and unabated exertion/ as developing ' the 
purpose of a great proportion of the Anglican clergy to transfer 
the ecclesiastical property vested in the State to the exclusive 
possession of alclerical party, in defiance of the rights, the politi- 
cal interests, and the religious sentiments of the people at large.' 
The same topic, with other ecclesiastical events of recent occur- 
rence, was also the subject of a forcible appeal to conscientious 
members of the Church of England. The co-operation of ^ the 
Wesleyan Methodists of Great Britain and Ireland' was similarly 
invoked in an address, proceeding, as we learn, from a Wesleyan 
pen, in the discussion on which we were gratified to find the Bev. 
Mr. Griffith^ and other active members of the Reform party in 
the Wesleyan body, taking a decided part. A paper on ' the 
Provincial Press, in relation to the Anti-state-church Movement,' 
supplied much suggestive information, which we commend to the 
special attention of those friends of the Association who are resi- 
dent in populous localities. In prospect of Mr. Roebuck's motion 
in the House of Commons, the Irish Church was the subject of 
an elaborate and valuable resolution, containing an epitome of 
the facts and arguments to be urged against the continued exist* 
ence of that most oppressive and corrupt institution. Other 
resolutions, insisting on the importance of checking the growth 
of State-churchism in the colonies; calling public attention to 
the clergy-compensating clauses of the Interments Bill;* and 
resolving on a renewed protest against the continuance of the 
Hegium Donum; give proof of the watchfulness of the Anti-state- 
church party, and the possibility of combining a resistance to 

• That the subsequent activity of the Executive Committee to this Bill 
has not been without effect, is evidenced by the amendment of the com- 
pensation clauses. On this subject, a well-known and able writer in 
the 'Standard of Freedom,' under the signature of *John Pym,' says:-— 
'Tlie Anti-state-church Association, although it has an Ei|g^gres8ive title, is 
really a defensive society. It is the State-pay principle which is daily trying 
to extend itself in the legislation of the country. One day it establishes the 
payment for the education of the Irish priesthood ; another, it endows Colonial 
bishoprics ; on a third, it arranges to pay the schoolmasters of all sects ; and 
on a fourth, it demandJs of all men a perpetuity of funereal sinecures, witii the 
aitematiTes of delivering up the money, or delivering up their health. Had 
there been no Anti-state-church Association, long ere now the Irish priesthood 
would have been completely endowed. It is now the only organization to 
confront this new and imparalleled iniquity. Men who oppose it practically, 
help the erection of new JEstablisliments, and the infliction of burial robberies. 
Never mind the words of any man — read his acts. The tendencies of his 
deeds are his tendencies.' 


' practical grierances' with the systematic assertion of abstract 

In looking at the elements of which the CSonference was com- 
posed, we were much struck with the amount of ayailable 
strength which it had no occasion to employ. Men whom even 
Dr. Campbell deigns to consider ' influential,' were at the service 
of the Conference, but their actire help was not needed. There 
was enough and to spare. 

The triennial Beport of the Execatire Committee is an 
admirable document, deserving of much notice, as affording a 
comprehensive view of the eflbrts put forth by the AssociaUon, 
and the means of estimating its actual progress. We shall not, 
therefore, be presuming too much on the patience of our readers, 
if, passing by that part of the Report which has reference to what 
may be termed the working of the machinery of the Organiza- 
tion, we quote some portions which relate to the measures 
adopted in pursuance of its object. 

* As the most effectual means of attracting public attention to the 
magnitude and importance of the society^s object, they (the Committee) 
endeavoured to make a more extensive use of the platform, by the mul- 
tiplication of public meetings and lectures. Such a course, it is evident, 
involved greatly increased labour and expense, numerous difficulties, 
and, in some instances, considerable risk of failure. In many of the 
towns the society had previously made no effort, and the proposal to 
broach the question of the separation of Church and State before a 
public audience was regarded even by friends as a bold and somewhat 
hazardous experiment. But calculating fully on popular sympathy, and 
encouraged by a succession of ecclesiastical occurrences singularly cal- 
culated to give effect to their appeals, they resolved thai in every dietrici 
of the country which they might eeiect as a field ofoperaiiom^ they would 
pose by no town in which it was possible to mahs an entrance tmd to coUeei 
a public audience. 

* The extent to which they have been able to realise this design is 

* The connexion of the lata treasurer of the Association with this journal, 
would, under ordinary cireumttances, prerent our quoting the resolatioo 
pasted respecting him. Those cireumstances, howeTcr, must plead our 
excuse— if such be needed— for pladng on permanent record the foilowiag 
vote, which was prepared without tiie slightest oognisance of Dr. Price : — 
* That this Conferenee has heard with unaffected oonoem that Dr. Price is 
precluded, by the state of his health, accepting a renewed appointment as 
treasurer to the Association. That it desires to express its deep sense of the 
▼alue of his serrices, rendered not only in discharge of his oflElcial duties, but 
in his hearty participation in the difficulties and responsibilities attendant on 
the formation of the society, and his subsequent devotion to the furtheranoe 
of its interests. That it now, on his retirement, records its unabated eonfi- 
dence in, and esteem for, his high character, and indulaee the eameat hope that 
his life may be lon^ spared, and that he may yet l)e permitled to render 
assistance to the society as a member of it« ExecutiTe Committee.* 


a source of devout thankfulness and joy. Notwithstanding every 
obstacle IB titeir path, they are able to report that between fiee and six 
hundrtd meetingt, aS various kinde, have been held in connexion with 
the Association diuijig the past three years, being nearly three times the 
numher previoutlff field. The majority of these have been attended by 
efficient deputations appointed by the Committee, or by the society's 
lecturer, and some thousands of miles have thus been travelled in 
fulfilment of engagements which have, in almost every instance, been 
punctually observed. 

* Nearly all the English counties have been thus gone over. The 
first-class towns have been visited by deputations at least once a year, 
and some of them with greater frequency. A series of very Huccessful 
ueetings has also been held in the principal cities of Scotland. The 
towns in Bouth Wales have been twice visited. To these labours of 
tbe Executive ConunitUe must be added those of the Loc^ Committees, 
who, in several instances, have followed them up by numerous lectures 
Mul jpublic meetings entirely sustained by local resources.' 

Those only who have had experience of the labour and ^6- 

culties iiltcn(l;int on pnpulai- agitations, can fully appreciate the 
toil and anxiety which must have been undergone during such a 
campaign as that here described. It is evident that the society's 
resoarces, both personal and pecuniary, must have been taxed to 
the utmost, and with respect to the latter, it is matter of wonder 
how means so smaU have been found adequate for operations so 

•The meetings have not only betn numerous, but m the majority of 
cases have been highly effective. The larf/cst public buildings in t/ie 
kingdom — not cTcepliiig even the Fiee trade Hall Manchester and the 
To7rm.kaU , Birmingham^ hare been the seene of these qalheiinq'i and 
though the doors have been thrown open for the -idmi^aion of ill and 
on some occasions, a strenuous opposition Ins not been w intmg in no 
one case hare the inajoritg of the audience given a hostile lerdicl The«c 
meetings have also usually been conducted with i degree of dLCoruni 
which has reassured the timid and the hesitating, while it has greatly 
served to promote the object for which ihcy were convened. They 
have been ch.T.ractcriscd by other features equally gratifying and im- 
portant. Members of the Establishment, whose attendance has, in 
ai! cases, been especially invited, have largely availed themselves of 
the opportunity of viewing in the light of sound principles the pcrples- 
ing events occurring within its pale ; and Dissenting ministers and 
laymen, whose co-operation must be regarded as a gain, have frankly 
acknowledged a change of views in relation to the movement, and 
cipresBcd a hearty desire to give it their support.' 

We arc aware that it has been sought to depreciate the value 
of these popular gatherings, by asserting that they neither prove 
inything, nor have effected anything ; to which has been added, 
the very suspicious objection that the energy and money expended 
on them had far belter have been employed in seeking ' a revival 


of religion !' Nothing is easier, it is said, than to obtain and 
excite public audiences, which assemble and then disperse, 
leaving matters just where they were ; they are no test whatever. 
Now this is either childishness or mendacity — ^in the one case to 
be pitied, and in the other contemned. It is a species of logic 
which would prove anything ; and^ in this instance, proves a 
great deal too much — seeing that it cuts away the ground from 
under the objectors themselves, who rely on precisely the same 
species of evidence as indicating the progress of pet projects of 
their own! To suppose it possible that, in hundreds of public 
meetings, vital principles, such as are involved in this con- 
troversy, have been expounded, in many cases with distinguished 
ability, and in all with earnestness, and at a time peculiarly adapted 
to predispose men in their favour, and thatt notwithstanding, 
no advance has been made in the work of public enlightenment, 
is to give proof of an utter want of faith in the power of truth, 
and an equal absence of capacity for aught but a blind leader- 
ship of the blind. We think it difficult to evade the force of the 
following passage from the Report : — 

*The Committee feel justified in asserting, that up<m no pubHe 
question whatever have there been gathered together a greater nunber 
of large and enthusiastic public assembhes than have been convened 
on this question during the last three years. TAua much thmf could not 
always allege — for where thousands have been recently assembled, 
hundreds only were once present ; and where success has now been 
complete, there had not unfrequcnUy been previous failure. Without, 
therefore, attaching to them undue importance, and stiU less accepting 
them as precursors of an early triumph, they may yet bo regarded — 
as are nmilar demonstrations in connexion with other public wwvetnente 
^as clearly indicating that the British peonle are prepared to enter 
upon the full discussion, with a view to the ultimate setUement, of this 
great question.* 

The proceedings of the Committee in relation to legislatiTe 
movements are next adverted to. On two occasions they have 
vindicated the integrity and consistency of the Dissenting body 
by resisting, in the House of Commons, the Parliamentary grant, 
known as die Regium Danum^ and these ' emphatic protests' are 
to be, if needful, again and again repeated. 

* The Committee promptly acted upon tlic infonnation received bj 
them in the year 1H48, that a long-rumoiircd measure for the endow- 
ment of the Roman Catholic clerg}- of Ireland was aYiout to be sub- 
mitted to the legislature ; publicly declaring their determination to meet 
such a proposal with the most resolute hostility, and, in doing so, to 
occupy, as a broad ground of opposition, the fundamental principle of 
the Association. To whatever cause the abandonment of their inten- 
tion by the Government i^ to be attributed, the discussion which took 
place on the question undoubtedly cxerciHcd ;i decided intliience in 
giving a right direction to public opinion, and in establishing a principle 


•£ action on the part of Anti-staie-clitirchinen, from which they are not 
likely to depart on any future occasion. ' 

They hare further availed themselves of the opportunity of 
leBting the sincerity of those members of Parliament who, at the 
last eleetiony professed opposition to any extension of the system 
of ecclesiastical endowments, by opposing those clauses of the 
Soath Australian Colonies Bill, by which grants for ecclesiastical 
purposee are, however slightly, increased, and cannot be discon- 
tinaed by the Colonial legislatures without the consent of the 
Home Gh)vemment. In domg this, they have failed to accomplish 
more than ^ve seasonable expression to their principles. 

The subject of the Irish Church Establishment has been 
hroiight forward witli increased prominency, and but for the 
contemptuous waywardness of the member for Sheffield, would 
have been made the object of a specific and vigorous agitation. 
Hie work of petitioning on the general question has also been 
commenced, and is now to be carried on with increased energy, 
as tending ' to familiarise the minds of the public, and of our 
legislators, with the idea that this question must eventuaUy be 
the subject of a decisive conflict, the arena of which will be the 
British House of Commons.' 

We attach considerable importance to what may be designated 
the political department of the society's labours. If voluntaryism 
be an abstraction, its opposite is by no means such ; but, on the 
contrary, is continually developing itself in new and tanrible 
mischiefs. Dissenters have, therefore, to wage a double warfare ; 
to uproot established evils, and to resist their growth and multi- 
plication. Now, it must, we think, be admitted, that there have 
been occasions when, to serve a temporary purpose, they have 
been content to keep their principles somewhat in the back- 

S'ound, and when in united committees, and in deputations to 
owning-street, Nonconformity has been exposed to grievous 
misrepresentation. We are glad to believe that there now exists 
but little likelihood of a repetition of such mistakes ; and at all 
events, that while the Anti-staterchurch Association exists, and 
pursues its present decided course, the trumpet will give no 
uncertain sound. Whatever may be the prospect of suc- 
cess, right principles will be rigidly adhered to, and boldly 
advocated. > 

One of the most interesting features of the Report, is the 
bird's-eye view it gives of the internal conflicts which have 
been going on in the Establishment during the last three 
years, to the influence of which, it is freely acknowledged that 
the Association is mainly indebted for the prominence of its pre- 
sent position. We quote the reference to *the zealous and 
courageous labours of Mr. Horsman, to obtain a reform of the 


Establishment/ for the sake of the sentence with which the para- 
graph closes : — 

* His pertmacious inquiries ha^e eznosed preiatic and clerical greedi- 
ness in its full proportions— haTe exhibited ihe dignitaries of the Esta- 
blishment as the unserupolous conservators of the corruptions which 
impair its efficiency as a professedly religious institution—* have proved 
how large a portion of its revenues are devoted to no religious use^ 
and have gone far to demonstrate the inefficacy of all corrective mea- 
sures for tiie removal of abuses which are essentially connected with 
the existence of a Church established by, and w(»rked by the machinery 
of, civil government. Deeply do the Committee regret at such a crisis 
the absence of a band of men, however small, in we House of Com- 
mons, who, on such topics, and on all suitable occasions, would give 
bold and full expression to the great truths which they are charged 
with enunciating, and would avail themselves of occurrences so fnvoor- 
able for the inculcation of sound views on the suliject of politico- 
eoclesiastical legislation, as those which have, during the last three 
years, so largely occupied the public mind.' 

But while Anti-state-churchmen are hopeful^ they are also 
sufficiently sober-minded to estimate the real magnitude of the 
work on which they have entered, and hence the Committee con- 
clude this portion of their Report in the following cautionary 
terms : — 

^ But, gentlemen, gratifying as is Ibis survey of public affairs, you 
would but ill discern the signs of the times in concluding that your 
hand may now be slackened as in prospect of an easy victoiy. 
Auspicious as are these occurrences, they are chiefly valuable as 
opportunities to be turned to good account by vigilance and activity. 
The State Church in this country is an institution which will not be 
allowed to fall without a struggle more or less lengthened and severe. 
Indications of weakness will stimulate its supporters to renewed cflbrts 
to prolong its existence. Its decaying walls will be buttressed up by new 
erections, and even reformatory measures will be so skilfully modified 
as to open fresh sources of emolument and confirm exclusive privileges. 
Hence it should be regarded as the special duty of earnest Anti-ttate^ 
churchmen to cast the seeds of truth mto the wide breadth of toil uom 
first broken up— to give a right tone to new national movmnonta— to 
prevent the resettlement of the question of State Churches on any other 
than a sound and solid basis — and to render it impossible for eodeai* 
astical hierarchs or worldly statesmen to erect on the ruins of the pre* 
sent system one which, while less repulsive in its deformitv, will yet 
indefinitely postpone the great reform upon which their hearts are 
ftilly set.' 

It is this continuous strujn^lingy this growing inteniity» 
this ever-varying form of difficulty and dan^er^ which tries 
men's souls. They who have wearied of but six years of work- 
ing and waiting, nave, perhaps, shown their wisdom most in 
abandoning whiU was clearly never their mission — ' they went 


out from UB^ because they were not of ns/ The men at the 
head of this movement are ' made of sterner stu£P/ and their 
associates, as we confidently believe, are largely imbued with 
tfaeir spirit. We envy not the man who could hear unmoved 
the impressive language in which Mr. Miall addressed the 
delegates shortly after tne opening of the Conference :— - 

' I do trust, at all events, that this Conference is not in pursuit of 
success as its object, but is in the prosecution of its duty. I know not 
that any Christian man can laudably, and in a right spirit and tone of 
mind, pursue a Christian duty, who sits down and begins to calculate, 
as the very basis of his resolution, what are the difficulties with which 
he will have to contend. I hope that we shall never cast a false glare 
of allurement over our enterprise. Let us have none of those who 
are simply caught by glare and sunshine. We want earnest men, for 
we shall have earnest work to do. This is but just the beginning-— 
the struggle is at hand. Let those who are not prepared for disgrace 
leave us here. Let those who are not prepared to buckle up for work 
leave us now. Depend upon it, ours has been hitherto mere child's play. 
It is when our blows are felt, when our enemy is provoked, we shjdl 
begin to feel the hardness of the straggle. When customers will be 
lost — ^when the frown of respectable ladies must be met — when Sab- 
bath evening hearers must, if necessary, be given up — when every 
form of petty persecution will be employed to break down the spirit 
of those who are engaged in the advocacy or support of this work — 
it is then we shall find of what stufi* our hearts are made. If we have 
not got a deep, earnest persuasion of the truth of the principles of this 
Association — if we cannot lay hold, with the firm grasp of faith, on 
whatever has been promised by the Head of the Church to those who, 
on behalf of truth, are willing to give diligence, and self-denial, and 
exertion — if we cannot simply confide ourselves to the bare word of 
God — we had better leave off now.* 

Here wc should close, but a fierce onslaught has recently been 
made on the Association, to which we must briefly advert. We 
do so reluctantly. There are, however, occasions when force 
must be put on inclination at the stern call of duty. Such an one 
has just occurred in connexion with the Anti-state-church Asso- 
ciation, and it will be for the healthy conduct of our ecclesiastical 
affairs that it should be duly noted. It is now nearly thirty 
years since we entered into public life. We have been thrown 
amongst men of all shades of opinion, and have not been wholly 
unobservant of what was passing around us. We have seen much 
to deplore. Many things have pained us, and a sickening sense 
of human presumption and infirmity has occasionally taken pos- 
session of our minds. Yet we deliberately affirm, that we have 
rarely seen, in connexion with a religious profession, anything 
equal to the recklessness, arrogance, gross misstatements, and 
palpable inconsistencies, which have been evinced by the editor 


of the * British Banner,* in relation to the Anti -state-church 
society. We pity, from our very soul, the man who is subject 
to such gusts of passion, and would gladly leave him to the 
oblivion to which he is consigning himself, did we not feel that 
a bad example is infectious, and that some, possibly, may yet be 
influenced for evil by the presumption, spleen, and untmtlifiil* 
ness he has exhibited.* We shaU, therefore, dwell for a few 
moments on the unattractive theme, with a view of exposing the 
spirit of this attack, and of thus guarding the public against the 
future mischief which may threaten from the same quarter. 

We need not attempt to vindicate the Association. The Con- 
ference recently held has done this triumphantly. The anault 
was fierce. It was intended to be deadly. It was the movefnent 
of an incensed and bitter enemy, whose virulence was infinitely 
greater than his power. It was from no merciful purpose, but 
from sheer inabilitv> that the thrust did not prove fatal. The 
editor of the ' British Banner' mistook, in truth, his position. 
With characteristic modesty he imagined that the hearts of the 
country were in his keeping, and that he had onlv to announce, in 
his own peculiar style, ' We no longer stand identified with the 
Anti-state-church Association,' to induce thousands to desert its 
ranks, and leave bare the place of its gathering. Happily, the 
Nonconformists of Britain knew their principles bettef , and 
they bestirred themselves accordingly. What they did, and the 
manner in which they did it, are matters of history, and will be 
rightly appreciated when the petty vanities and insuflferable arro- 
gance of would-be-lcaders are held in merited contempt. The 
palpable inconsistencies of the assault are most marvellous. On 
the third of April, an article appeared in the ' Banner,* which 
every reader understood to be an attack on the society. It 
announced, in capitals, the important fact of the editor's secession ; 
sought to awaken the fears of the timid, by proclaiming the exist- 
ence of * a school of anarchy;' described Mr. Miall and Dr. Price 
as the arch-heretics ; and more than insinuated that the influence 
of the Association was employed by them for evil. And all this 
was done, be it remembered, without one syllable of complaint 
having been addressed to the society, much less to the gentlemen 
named. Dr. Campbell was a member of the Committee up to the 
very time he became a public assailant ; but such are his notions 
of propriety, that he preserved profound silence where he ought 

* There is much truth — far too much to be readily forgiTen — in what the 
editor of the 'Baptist Magaxine' said in 1S45, 'that it is not the destiny of 
the editor of the ** Christian Witness** to he written down by any oUier pen 
than his own.' — Baptist Magasine, 1^5, p. 19S. ]>r. Campbell lias laboured 
hard of bte to accomplifih this prediction. With a self-sacrifice not often wit- 
nessed, he has souf^ht to place beyond doubt the sagacity and truth of bb 
brother editor's vaticination. 


a Bpolun, and threw grave charges recklcsslj' about him, 
be ought, in the first instance, at least, to have been silent 
grave — and yet he osguibcs the character of a public censor, 
.'onounces, with the authority of an oracle, what other men 
[ aaj and do. A more diagusting e:diibitiDn of gelf- 
JOcy and eelf-ignorance, we never witnessed. What fol- 
io the three Guccessive numbers of the ' Banner' is 
«Iy illustrative of the truthfulness of Dr. Campbell's mind, 
[the consistency of hia views. We print the passages in 
d columns, that their bcautifdl harmony may be more 
f ^tprehendcd : — 

waitymanwlto * We hare no reply ■ As the matter now 
read our arUcle for those who, to serve stands, the entire Bri- 
S), could arrive a purpose, whether of tiah nation is eligible 
condnsion that pique or party, may to membership. Doc- 
u attack on deem it decent, at the trinal views, and per- 
rt Mtote-chnrcb expense of truth, to sonal profession of 
atioB, is to us represent ua as hoa- religion, are matters 
inccmprcfun- Ulr tn Iho And-alafc- of no conCLrn "liiil- 
and we are church Association. , .. ever; nothing more is 
y able to recon- ' It has, in our view, required than agrce- 
ch a conclusion been an utter failure ; mcnt on the single 
itefrrity.' — £aH- thereaeemsnoralional object of the separa- 
pril 10. ground whatever for tion of Church and 

believing that il can. Stale, According to 

in any possible way, 

ever contribute to the 

accomplishment of ilic 

assigned object. . , . 
' Wc submit, therc- 

f .re, that it is folly to 

called organization. . . 
A lengthened experi- 
ment has noM' been 
made, and, altliough 
mote has been don 
in this way th:in wt 
ever done before, sti 
tlie result is such i 
utterly to extinguish 
all reasonable expecta- 
tion of success, in this 
way alone, for c 
ries to come." — San- 
ner, April 17. 

the fundamental prin- 
ciple. Lord Boling- 
broke might have 
en president ; David 
,ime. irc^'urer : E.i- 
inl Gibbou. socre- 

agcnt ; whdc the 
French Directory, ut' 
bloody fame, mit,'ht 
have formed the acliiiij 
committee. There is 
nothing to tiavc pre- 
stilution. Is it pnssi- 

fact without 
horror ? The tiling 
baa but to be stated 
to settle the question ; 
to men of righlly- 


• O my 


soul, come not thou into their secret, and to their assembi 
honour, be not thou united ! . . . Who ever heard the voice o 
in any meeting of the Anti-statc-church Association in th 
metropolis ? There the devout and the ungodly, both in the 
degree, meet and mingle ; and, while it is expected that the 
from courtesy, shall not swear, it is provided by statute that tl 
shall not pray. No! The inscription on the organization 
virtually — ^Thebe is ho God V'^Bafmer^ April 24. 

The consistency of these passages^ occiirring^ be it ob 
in three saccessive numbers of the same journal, it is no 
to establish, neither should we attempt to reason with a 
who a&med it. If Dr. Campbell imagines they hold to 
he has a lo^c with which we are unacquainted. 

The suspicion was not unnatural, that he was unw 
led on in his attack by other occurrences which ha 
pened in his editorial career. He himself appears t 
surmised that something of the kind would be imagii 
indeed, conscience did not suggest that such was res 
case. At airy rate, he explicitly denies the fact; a] 
readers will oe better able to judge of the worth of his 
when they have compared it with the Note which we j 
the side ol the editor's statement Let it be borne in mil 
the review of Mr. Miall's volume, on which Dr. Campbell 

Save charges, appeared in the January 'Eclectic,' ai 
r. Brown's review of Mr. GilfiUan's work was publishec 
number for February. 

' The second Triennial period of ' Feb. 5, 

the Anti-state-church Association * We had seventeen < 
b now expired, and in thb day's over-matter, and it is < 
paper will be found a statement of whether you can get in at 
our views of the policy of its ex- mo$i anrioui to serv0 yoti, 
tension to another. That state- f^real emue you are <o wort 
ment b made solely from a sense vancing, with a very slight 
of public duty, and would assuredly ment, I am trying, &c. 
have appeared, although the events * Yours truly, 

had not occurred which led to our ' J. Cajcp; 

own withdrawment, as announced 

a fortnight ago. Some such state- ^ To the Secretary of the 
ment, indeed, had been resolved Anti-statc-church Asso 
upon previously to the * Eclectic ' 

affiur. It b not, therefore, to be put down to the score of th< 
just referred to, although such events alone, we think, all thii 
sidered, would render it in the highest degree expedient that tli 
elation should be brought to an end, as the most efficient i 
dealing with a serious evil. . . . 

' This circumstance (the Second Triennial Conference), wou 


lus time to do as we are now doing (recommend the diasolu- 
I AsaociatioR), altogether apart firom the considerations afore- 
UUa our minds had been made up before the special cage relative 
md " anareky " aroae.' — Banner, April 1 7. 

: a purpose of secession has been fotmcd, under sucli 
ion OS Dr. Campbell now avows, it is not usual to enter- 
iniiety here expressed; neither are men accustomed in 
the secretary of an organization, which is described as 

failure,' to speak ' of the great cause you are so wortMlt/ 
RQ.' If there be consistency and truth in such things, 
\ gnilly to a want of the perceptive faculty. ' The 

anair' happened in February at the latest, prior to 
e are told, 'some such statement' as appears in the 

' of April 17th, was resolved upon, and yet, on the 5th 
[ary, the above Note was penned. Either the Note of 
r was insincere, or the statement of the * Banner * 
i. Dr. Campbell may choose which alternative he 

le society has proved a failure, a total, absolute, failure, 
too, notwithstanding the skill and energy with which its 
e admitted to have been conducted. Such, at least, is 
ent averment of its accuser, though his statement, if 
, would reflect rather on others than on the society. We 
m for his admissions, which nothing but overwhelming 
could have extorted, and confidently leave our rcadere 
of the reliance to be placed on other parts of his state- 

a perioi! of sis yoar^, ' Have ttic writers of tliisaiUlrcss 
t i» now the poml'on of the (Address of the Wesleyan Con- 
rclaiion to tlio Xoiicon- fbrcncc) to lenm that nn fnuiU p<n- 
sily ? Has it materially ti-n of the moxl aucrest/nl mininlers 
(.■ithcr in London, ot in nfflrent Britain an: most zeti/om 
ice- : Wl' do not hesitale Aiiti-slate-chiirehmeii ? Havi' lliej 
hal it has not in eitlicr. t^tiU to be inlbvmcd. tluit tlit wliole 
etropolis. where are its body of Scottish DiKScntin;; minis- 
are stiil opposed to it, ons Anli-stale-chnrchracn?— com- 
..ijiel, ^o fiir as wc know. prisinR a Wardlaw and a Rnssell. 
opened for its aervice, a Yoiinji and a Brown, a Kin'; and 
not opened at tlic first; an Alexander.* a.Y\A a mulliliiili' of 
some of Ihopc .ire dosed, others every way worthy of this 
;re the sli;:htest prospect high fellowship." — Banner, Sept. much the eonlrary. 27, 1848. 
t.-ind precisely the same ' Tlie Association comprises n.t 


as to the provinces ; with a very a few of the best, wisest, 
slight exception only, there has most thoroughly Christii 
been no conquest of influential patriotic men of the times/ 
men. All the great towns and ywr, April, d« I860, 
dties are still indifferent, or hostile ' Tlus value of this Asm 
to the movement. ... is not to be estimated by ei 

* The organization, after all, is, publications or its lectures 
and was from the first, very much the visible embodiment of a 
an affiur of a name. • . . The of the true Nonconformini 
organization comprises but a few, of the empire. The T; 
a very few elements — a few hun- CSonferences are a reprcM 
dred pounds and a few individuals ; concentration of that spiri 
these pounds and those individuals Did ike sooiefy exiti nmphf 
withdrawn, there would be an end eaUmg of cor^erences^ wUhoi 
of the concern. . . . The wonder publicaiions or kcturm^ the 
is, all things considered, not that tUm would be one of incaieuk 
so little, but that so much, has porttmee; while its publi 
been realized. Nothing but energy, and lectures, of eourse, 
skill, and perseverance, such as are enhance ita valua.' ««• C 
seldom brought to any enterprise, Wttneu, June, 1847. 
could have accomplished so much. * The history of the >6r. 
The organisation, however, we ysor?* of this society does 
repeat, is much more a name than to those able and devoted m 
a thing. Deducting the zealous have taken the lead in Its 
Itinerant labours of Mr. Kingsley, The result ha$ exceeded aU 
and a few deputation movemento, oMfMpecto/fbn, and is unlike 
what remains of the labours of thing of the kind hitherto 
a year? Absolutely nothing.'— among us. Pr^pediee i$ 
Bmmer, April 17. paeew^ ^**^^ ^"'^ tomfide 

tending. The aoeessione he 
numeroue. The delegatioi 
Mandiester was powerful ; the ministers of Leeds have cot 
ward in a body. . . . The Congregational Union of Scotia 
most hearty in the cause, and sent as delegates three of thi 
men. The Rev. 7, H. Hinton, Secretary of the Baptist Union, 
strongly adverse, has now come boldly and cordially forward ; 
this valuable acquisition is to be added that of some of th 
eminent men of the New Connexion and tiie Association Metfa 
— Christian Witneee^ June, 1847. 

Like all other associations which seek to act on the legi 
through the medium of an enlightened public judgme] 
refources of the society hare been larsel j escpended on 
iDgB^ held in Tarious parts of the kiogoom. Thcsey as w 
seen, have been nmneroas, and largely attended, and Dr.Cai 
formerly regarded them as important and bopefnL Let v 
see how he contrives to eat ms own words. As in other 
he here snpplies the best answer to himself. His men 

* It is well known that since the first IViennial Conference, the op 
of the society have been doubled. 



eridently as defectiye as his judgment is unsound^ and his temper 
irritable :— 

* FMic mtetmgt ar$ no test what' ' The Beport next speaks to the 
mr wpom tmck a point. The an- subject of lectures and pubHc 
BOOBoement of two or three noted meetings, on which, we think, the 
BODes, wiU always command an society ought to expend its main 
vadieBoe anywhere upon any sub- strength, as the importance of these 
jecL The theme, moreover, is can scarcely be overestimated.'^^ 
captmting on other groimds than Christian Witness, June, 1847. 
tiiioae of religion. It makes pro- 
▼ision, in the hands of a certain 
daaa of advooates, for the rich 
gratification of some of the worst 
paaaiona of the human heart I%e 
of a bishop, too, amid the 
of a fsrvid rhetoric, is 
psmOme to the popidace.'-^ 
\ April 17, 1850. 

It waa not to be expected that the Moroc^of the meetings of the 
AflMNdation should escape censure. They are, of course, vilified 
in a style of wholesale defamation, at wnich we should smile if 
graver and more painful feelings were not excited. Let our 
readers compare the statements we subjoin — ^looking rather at 
die general complexion and tone of that of 184o, than at 
particular expressions — ^and let them then say what they think of 
the morale oi the man who could pen the sentences quoted from 
Che * Banner ' of April last : — 

* It has ever appeared to us that 
its meetings, in this metropolis, 
bore a peculiarly earthly com- 
plexion, which can be explained 
only by a reference to the spirit of 
those who mainly compose them. 
They have ever appeared to us to 
be deplorably wanting in the 
spirit of piety. We never saw 
an Anti-state-church assembly in 
which the spirit of the mere natural 
sun did not seem wholly to prevail 
over the spirit of the Christian 
man. The aspect of such assem- 
blies has ever seemed to us to be 
essentially that of the world ; their 
ruling element appeared that of 
the earth rather than that of 
heaven— with which neither the 
gospel of Christ nor the spirit of 

' Our readers will find, in another 
column, a special report of the 
Anti-state-church meeting, held 
in the Queen's Concert-rooms, 
Hanover-square. . . . That such 
a hall should be obtained for the 
purpose of arguing the great ques- 
tion of Church and State, adversely, 
reflects no small credit on those 
with whom it lies to arrange such 
matters. ... It was worth going 
some way to see the excellent 
member for Westminster, himself 
an Episcopalian, and a man of 
high Christian character, standing 
forth, &c. . . . Never before did 
he make such a demonstration, 
in the midst of the aristocracy and 
in the face of the world. ... As 
to Mr. Gardner, we need say 


Christ had much, if anything, to nothing more than that his speech 
do.' — Banner^ April 24. was one of superlative excellence. 

indicative alike of genius, culture. 
Christian principle, and political philosophy. . . . Another circumstance, 
which we hail with special satisfaction, was the appearance of Mr. 
Kershaw. . . . Public demonstrations are not altogetlier in unison with 
the calm temperament, and the modesty, which marks Mr. Kershaw*^ 
character, but there are times when duty demands a sacrifice of 
•personal preferences. It will be found, he frankly stated, that he con- 
sidered the time to have come for a public and bold avowal of his views 
on this great subject — ^views which he had long cherished in his mere 
private capacity. We hope that multitudes of those Nooeooformists, 
in the same condition of life as the member for Stockport^ will come to 
a similar conclusion; and stand forth to add the weight of their 
character, station, and influence, in support of this great cause.'— 
Banner^ June 14, 1848. 

But it is not on the alleged failure of the Association simply, 
that its abandonment is urged ; the signs of the times are against 
it, and the old plea for inaction is put forth with characteristic 
recklessness. Let the Doctor speak for himself, and the reply 
shall be in his own words. Hansard is proverbiany unpopiuar 
on the ministerial benches. What must onr assailant tiunk of 
the ' Christian Witness ' and the ' Banner ' of/ormer days ? — 

* It appears to us that the time * Nothbg should be left untried 

is come for suspending, if not al- to unite all that fsar God among 

together surrendering, all organi- the Dissenters in one holy league 

zations seeking the separation of and covenant against this eoloMsl 

Church and State by direct attacks, system of error, evil, distraction, 

. . . Have patience ! liCt tyranny division, and persecution. As a 

and rapacity have time to swell to matter of civil policy, thit is the 

their full £mensions. . . . From Jirtt duty of every British patriot ; 

that strife you may safely 4ta$ui as a matter of Christian piety, it is 

aloof, ... If anytlung for a little the^«/ duty of every enlightened 

can stay the progress of those subject of the king«Vym of ChrisU' 

events, and add for a season — Christian WHneUf April, 1844. 

strength and stability to the Estab- ' In such matters it is childish 

lishment, it will be such a moment to talk of '* proridential appoint- 

(qucry, movement ?) as that pro- ments '*^-or worse ; it is trifling 

posed by the formation of the with sacred things. *' Manifest 

Anti-state-church Association. . . call !*'... You may find it in 

You have but to wait the ap- proridence: this is deariy the 

pointed time, and you shall see with great question of the times. . . . 

loy the triumph of Him who is They who now can find '*no call** 

head overall things to hid Church.* in these directions, but wait Ibr 

—Baniwr, April 17. another, arc likely to wait for 

ever.* — Banner, Sept. 27, 1848. 

The inconsistency of thu following in too glaring to escape 
notice, and bespeaks, of itself, the virulence of the attack which 



has been made. Even Dr. Campbell miul blush when com- 
paring his present with his former self. Though the first 
pan^praph is nominally that of ' the remonstrants/ it is clearly 
intended to express the views of the editor : — 

* We, said the remonstrants, * If reform u to come at all, it 
hope as confidently as yon, that muet come from without; it will 

the sererance will be efieeted, but 
it will be by other and very dif- 
ferent means firom those you 
propose to employ. . . . The 
Church herself will, perhaps, have 
a large share in the work.'— * 
% April 17. 

nerer come from within the 
Church^— that is, from the bishops- 
and dignified clergy.'— CAm/um 
Witness, Sept. 1847. 

One more quotation^ and we shall gladly turn from this repul- 
siye exhibition. Nothing but a strong sense of what was due 
to one of the best and noblest organizations of the day, would 
Imtc induced us to dwell on it so long. Had personal inclina- 
tioa been consulted^ we should hare been silent, but the cause 
of traths viUfiod and fiercely assailed, demanded the service we 
render. Few things are more repulsive than the language of 
religion firom intemperate lips, — a profession of special regard 
for the spirituality of the Church in connexion with bitterness of 
spirit and calumnious averments respecting others. Such things 
are the staple in which some men deal, and we hesitate not to 
charge them on the recent doings of the editor of the ^ Banner.' 
We cannot conceive of anything more adapted to foster the pre- 
judice which unhappily prevails against evangelical truth, dian 
the loud and boastAil professions of religious zeal which he has 
intermingled with asperity, mortified pride, and slanderous 
statements. He is eminently skilful in insinuations — leaving an 
impression beyond the strict import of his words; and thus 
securing a retreat whenever it may be deemed expedient to deny 
the guilt charged upon him. It is some consolation, however, 
that even here he has, by anticipation, furnished an antidote in 
the language with which, on other occasions, he has defended 
himself. Let our readers compare the following : — 

' Your power is your piety — not 
your gregarious, piebald organiza- 
tions ; in proportion as your 
members increase, your zeal bums, 
and your graces shine, you will 
tell upon the understanding and 
the consciences of the adherents 
of Establishments ; your policy, 
therefore, apart from higher con- 

* Will this answer (a passage of 
the address of the Wesley an Con- 
ference) satisfy intelligent, reflect- 
ing men ? Does it not beg the 
question ? Does it not assume 
what is not proved — that they who 
engage in this enterprise (the Anti- 
state-church movement) are in- 
difierent to their spiritual charge ? 



sideratioiiB, as the shortest and 
surest method of severmg the 
Church from the State, is, to pro- 
mote the triumph and reign of true 
religion in the land. . . . We 
thiiJi: the great work of the day 
ought to be the reviyal of religion 
in the midst of the churches, and 
its extension throughout the whole 
land.' — BmmsTy April 17. 

Is not this to put forth a claim of 
superior sanctity for themseWcs, 
and to set it up as a plea for the 
neglect of an important duty ? Is 
it not here insinuated that oppcAi- 
tion to Uie Church and State is in- 
compatible with the efficient dis- 
charge of pastoral fnnctiotts?'— 
Banner ^ 8e^. ^7, 1848. 

We have done, and now leave it to the Nonconformists^ of 
Great Britain to jud£;e between the Anti-state^church Association 
and its assailant. If his temper and discretion^ the soundness of 
his judgment, his rectitude, purity of motivei and unselfishness, 
command their confidence, they will, of course^ pronounce against 
the former ; but if they fail to recognise these qualities, they will 
cling to the society the more firmly from its miying become the 
object of his bitter enmity. Of their decision we entertain no 
doubt. The course which is applauded by such journals as the 
' Watchman,' ' Becord,' and ' Morning Herald/ cannot have the 
approval of the Dissenters of Englima, and we look, therefore, 
with unfaltering confidence to the future. It is well to know oar 
enemies. A fidse friend is a source of weakness, and firom this 
danger the society is now exempt. We hasten to dismiss the 
assajlant and the assault, pitying tne one and smiling at the other. 
In the discharge of our duty, as journalists, we haye called things 
by their right names, and know no reason why we should not 
do so. It would hayc been far more pleasing to write in a 
difierent strain, but conscience would in such case hare accused 
us of unfaithfulness to truth and to God. 

Since the aboyc was in typo, we have seen the 'Banner* 
of June 19th. A more miserable affair we ncyer read than 
the so-called 'Editorial Address to the Baptist Churches of 
Great Britain,' &c. It has all the untruthfulness and malevo- 
lence conspicuous in other productions of the writer, without a 
particle of the force he sometimes displays. We never met with 
a duller or more pointless thing, and hope it will be widely read 
by the parties addressed, 'lo those parties we say, in Dr. 
Cnmpbcirs own icords, and with infinitely more truth, *The 
article seems to have been sj)ccially prepared for the weak, less 
worthy, and less intelligent portion of your community. It could 
not be meant for the men of sense ; its authors could only hope 
that, by them, it would be overlooked, or, if seen, endured.* 
Our note on pa^r 11J3 explains the ^pec^al bitterncFs of the 
writer's allusion> lo the editor (A the * Kaptibt Magazine ' — 


a mas u stiperior to hie accmaer in modesty and stcrlii^ 
rrctitnde, as he is inferior ia trickery, vaunting pretension, 
snd nirogtmce. 

How even Dr. Campbell could venture to print what he has 
written, reepecting the reference of that gentleman to the article 
ia the ' Church,' is marvellous. Common decency ought to 
have couQselled silence on such a point, after what he had 
done in the matter of Mr. MiaJl's volume and the ' Evan- 
gehcal Magazine.' But we cease to wonder at any thing £roiD 
this quarter. 

Of the eztracts given, we say nothing. The writers of moat 
of them are evidently uninformed on many points of the case ; 
and one, at least, ought, for very shame, to be silent in any 
matter pertaining to the ' Eclectic' On a perusal of the whole 
tddtvsa, we cannot better express our judgment than in the 
words of Dr. Campbell himself in this very article. ' Of two 
evils, both bad, it is not easy to say which UiG more abounds — 
— unblushing falsehooil, or cunning malignity,' The editor of 
llie ' Church ' will not much distress himself at such a charge 
from such a quarter. It would be well for his accuser if all 
who know htm would as readily give a verdict in his favour. 
Before concluding we should like to ask the editor of the 
'Banner' whether he received a letter irom the Kev. Charles 
Stovel, repudiating the construction put on his speech at the 
last annual meeting of the Baptist Home mission, as ' making 
a distinct and unmistakcnhlc allusion to the recent transactions of 
the " Eclectic Review ?" ' Such was Dr. Campbell's language in 
the ' Banner ' of April 24, when he wanted to damage the 
character of Dr. Price, and to destroy the 'Eclectic' Did 
he then, we ask, receive a communication from Mr, Stovel, 
denj-ing his having intended any such allusion, and, if he did, 
why was not the letter printed ! If the fact be so — and wc 
challenge Dr. Campbell to answer our inquiry — what can be 
thought of the efl'rontery of the following passage, printed in 
ihe ' Banner ' of the 19th : — ' Above all things, integrity is 
essential to the conduct of the press. A fig for intelligence, 
for eloquence, for everything, in the absence of integrity.' Wc 
»ant words to express our estimate of what is involved in com- 
bining such deeds with such words. Let the one or the other 
be abandoned. Tliey cannot hold together. 


sideratioiiB, as the shortest and Is not this to put forth a dann of 

surest method of severing the superior sanctity for themsdlTcs, 

Church from the State, is, to pro- and to set it up as a pica for the 

mote the triumph and reign of true neglect of an important duty ? Is 

religion in the land. • . . We it not here insinuated that opjKMi- 

think the great work of the day tion to the Chnrch and State is m- 

ought to he the reviyal of religion compatible with the efficient dis- 

in the midst of the churches, and charge of pastoral functions ?*— 

its extension throughout the whole Banner^ Sept. d7, 1848. 
land.' — BmrniTy April 17. 

We have done, and now leaye it to the Nonconformists^ of 
Great Britain to juds^e between the Anti-state-chnrch Association 
and its assailant. If his temper and discretion^ the soundness of 
his judgmenti his rectitude, purity of motivci and unselfishness^ 
command their confidence, tiiey will, of course^ pronounce against 
the former ; but if they ful to recognise these qualities, they will 
cling to the society the more firmly from its miying beconie the 
object of his bitter enmity. Of their decision we entertain no 
doubt The course which is applauded by such journals as the 
' Watchman/ ' Becord/ and ' Morning Herald/ cannot have the 
ai>proYal of the Dissenters of Englimd, and we look, therefore, 
with unfaltering confidence to the luture. It is well to know oar 
enemies. A fidsc friend is a source of weakness, and firom tlua 
danger the society is now exempt. We hasten to dismiss the 
assailant and the assault, pitying tne one and smiUng at the other. 
In the discharge of our duty, as journalists, we have called things 
by their right names, and know no reason why we should not 
do so. It would have been far more pleasing to write in a 
difierent strain, but conscience would in such case have accused 
us of unfaithfulness to truth and to God. 

Since the above was in type, we have seen the 'Banner* 
of June 19th. A more miserable affair we never read than 
the so-called 'Editorial Address to the Baptist Churches of 
Great Britain,' &c. It has all the untruthfulness and malevo- 
lence conspicuous in other productions of the writer, without a 
particle of the force he sometimes displays. We never met with 
a duller or more pointless thine, and hope it will be widely read 
by the parties addressed, lo those parties we say, in Dr. 
CampbcU's otrn ttords^ and with infinitely more truth, *The 
article seems to have been 8|>ecially prepared for the weak, less 
worthy, and less intelligent portion of your community. It could 
not bo meant for the men of sense ; its auUiors could only hope 
that, by them, it would be overlooked, or, if seen, endured.* 
Our note on pagr 112 explains thr special bittorncHs of the 
writcr'h allu^^ions lo the editor of the ' Haptibt Magazine* — 


a iiuui as superior to ]u6 accuser in modesty aad sterling 
rpctitade, as he is inferior in trickery, vaunting pretensioa, 
snd arrogance. 

How cTcn Dr. Campbell could venture to print what he has 
Tiittcn, respecting the reference of that gentleman to the article 
IB the ' Cliurch,' is mairellous. Common decency ought to 
luive counselled silence on such a point, after what he had 
done in the matter of Mr. Miall'e volume and the ' Evan- 
gelical Magazine.' But we cease to wonder at any thing from 
this quarter. 

Oftte extracts given, we say nothing. The writers of most 
of them are evidently uninformed on many points of the case ; 
and one, at least, ought, for very shame, to be silent in any 
matler pertaining to the ' Eclectic' On a perusal of the whole 
4ddress, we cannot better express our judgment than in the 
words of Dr. Campbell himself in this very article. ' Of two 
criU, both bad, it is not easy to say which the more abounds — 
— unblushing falsehood, or cunniug mitlignity.' The editor of 
the ' Church ' will not much distress himselt at such a charge 
from such a quarter. It would be well for his accuser if all 
who Itnow him would as readily give a verdict in his favour. 
Before concluding we should lOce to ask the editor of the 
' Banner ' whether he received a letter from the Bev. Charles 
Stovel, repudiating the construction put on his speech at the 
last annual meeting of the Baptist Home mission, as 'making 
a distinct and unmistakeablc allusion to the recent transactions of 
the " Eclectic Review ?" ' Such was Dr. Campbell's language in 
the 'Banner' of April 24, when he wanted to damage the 
character of Dr. Price, and to destroy the 'Eclectic' Did 
he then, we ask, receive a communication from Mr. Stovel, 
denying his having intended any such allusion, and, if he did, 
why was not the letter printed ? If the fact be so — and we 
challenge Dr. Campbell to answer our inquiry — what can be 
thought of the effrontery of the foilowing passage, printed in 
the ' Banner ' of the 19th : — ' Above all tilings, integrity is 
essential to the conduct of the press. A fig for intelligence, 
for eloquence, for everything, in the absence of integrity.' Wc 
want words to express our estimate of what is involved in com- 
bining such deeds with such words. Let the one or the other 
be abandoned. They cannot hold together. 


aideratioiiB, as the shortest and Is not this to put forth a dann of 

surest method of severing the superior sanctity for themseWcs, 

Church from the State, is, to pro- and to set it up as a pica for the 

mote the triumph and reign of true neglect of an important duty ? Is 

religion in the land. . . . We it not here insinuated that opposi- 

think the great work of the day tion to the Church and State is nu 

ought to be the revival of religion compatible with the efficient die- 

in the midst of the churches, and charge of pastoral functions ?*— 

its extension throughout the whole Banner^ Sept. d7, 1848. 
land.' — BmrneTy April 17. 

We have done, and now leave it to the Nonconformists of 
Great Britain to judjze between the Anti-stateK^hnrch Association 
and its assailant If his temper and discretion^ the soundness of 
his judgmentj his rectitude, purity of motivci and unselfishness, 
command their confidence, Uiey will, of course, pronounce against 
the former ; but if they fail to recognise these qualities, they will 
cling to the society the more firmly from its having beconie the 
object of his bitter enmity. Of their decision we entertain no 
doubt. The course which is applauded by such journals as the 
* Watchman/ ' Becord/ and * Mominff Herald/ cannot have the 
ai>proyal of the Dissenters of Englana, and we look^ therefore^ 
with unfaltering confidence to the future. It is well to know oar 
enemies. A f^c friend is a source of weakness, and firom this 
danger the society is now exempt. We hasten to dismiss the 
assailant and the assault, pitying tne one and smiling at the other. 
In the discharge of our duty, as journalists, we have called things 
by their right names, and know no reason why we should not 
do so. It would haye been far more pleasing to write in a 
difierent strain, but conscience would in such case hare accused 
us of unfaithfulness to truth and to God. 

Since the above was in type, we have seen the 'Banner* 
of June 19th. A more miserable affair we never read than 
the so-called 'Editorial Address to the Baptist Churches of 
Great Britain,' &c. It has all the untruthfulness and malevo- 
lence conspicuous in other productions of the writer, without a 
particle of the force he sometimes displays. We never met with 
a duller or more pointless thine, and hope it will be widely read 
by the parties addressed, lo those parties we say, in Dr. 
CampbeU's orr/i xcorda^ and with infinitely more truth, 'The 
article seems to have been specially prepared for the weak, less 
worthy, and loss intelligent portion of your community. It could 
not be meant for the men of sense ; its authors could only hope 
that, by them, it would be overlooked, or, if seen, endured.' 
Our note on paife 11^3 e\plaill^ the special bitterncps of the 
writer's allusions to tia editor oi" the * Uaptibt .Magazine ' — 


supQiior to his accoser ia modesty and etcrliog 
rMtttade, as he is inferior in trickery. Taunting prcteDsios, 
and srrogance. 

How eren Dr. Campbell could venture to print what he has 
written, respecting the reference of that gentleman to the article 
in the • Church,* is marvellous. Common decency ought to 
have counselled silence on such a point, afWr what he had 
done in the matter of Mr. MiaU's volume and the ' Evan- 
gelical Magazine.' But we cease to wonder at any thing from 
this quarter. 

Or the extracts given. We say nothing. The writers of most 
of them are evidently uninformed on many points of the case ; 
and one, at least, ought, for very shame, to be silent in any 
matter jpertiuning to the ' Eclectic' On a perusal of the whole 
aiildress, we cannot better express our judgment than in the 
words of Dr. Campbell himself in this very article. ' Of two 
erils, both bad, it is not easy to say which the more abounds-^ 
— unblushing falsehood, or cunning malignity.' The editor of 
the ' Church ' will not much distress hirascii' at such a charge 
from such a quarter. It would be well for his accuser if all 
who know him would as readily give a verdict in his favour. 
Before concluding we should like to ask the editor of the 
'Banner' whether he received a letter from the Rev. Charles 
Stovel, repudiating the construction put on his speech at the 
last annual meeting of the Baptist Home mission, as ' making 
adistinct and unmistake.ible allusion to the recent transactions of 
the " Eclectic Review ?" ' Such was Dr. Campbell's language in 
the ' Banner ' of April 24, when he wanted to damage the 
character of Dr. Price, and to destroy the 'Eclectic' Did 
he then, we ask, receive a communication from Mr. Stovel, 
denj-ing his having intended any such allusion, and, if he did, 
why was not the letter printed ! If the fact be so — and we 
challengo Dr. Campbell to answer our inquiry — what can be 
thought of the effrontery of the following passage, printed in 
the ' Banner ' of the 19th : — ' Above dl things, integrity is 
essential to the conduct of the press. A fig lor intelligence, 
for eloquence, for everything, in the absence of integrity.' "We 
want words to express our estimate of what is involved in com- 
bining such deeds with such words. Let the one or the other 
be abandoned. They cannot hold together. 


sideratioiiB, as the shortest and Is not this to put forth a daim of 

surest method of severing the superior sanctity for themselTcs, 

Church from the State, is, to pro- and to set it up as a pica for the 

mote the triumph and reign of true neglect of an important duty ? Is 

religion in the land. . . . We it not here insinuated that opjKMi- 

think the great work of the day tion to the ChnrdL and State is in- 

ought to be the revival of religion compatible with the efficient dis- 

in the midst of the churches, and charge of pastoral functions ?*— 

its extension thronghout the whole Banner^ Sept. 97, 1848. 
land.' — Banner y April 17. 

We have done, and now leave it to the Nonconformists^ of 
Great Britain to juds^e between the Anti-state-church Association 
and its assailant If his temper and discretion^ the soundness of 
his judgmentj his rectitude, purity of motivei and unselfishness^ 
command their confidence, they will, of course, pronounce against 
the former ; but if they fail to recognise these qualities, they will 
cling to the society the more firmly from its having beconie the 
object of his bitter enmity. Of their decision wc entertain no 
doubt The course which is applauded by such journals as the 
' Watchman,' ' Becord,' and * Mominff Herald/ cannot have the 
approval of the Dissenters of Englana, and we look, therefore, 
with unfaltering confidence to the future. It is well to know oar 
enemies. A fsdse friend is a source of weakness, and firom this 
danger the society is now exempt We hasten to dismiss the 
assailant and the assault, pitying tne one and smiling at the other. 
In the discharge of our duty, as journalists, we have called things 
by their right names, and know no reason why we should not 
do so. It would have been far more pleasing to write in a 
difierent strain, but conscience would in such case have accused 
us of unfaithfulness to truth and to God. 

Since the above was in type, we have seen the 'Banner* 
of June 19th. A more miserable affair we never read than 
the so-called 'Editorial Address to the Baptist Churches of 
Great Britain,' &c. It has all the untruthfukiess and malevo- 
lence conspicuous in other productions of the writer, without a 
particle of the force he sometimes displays. We never met with 
a duller or more pointless thing, and hope it will be widely read 
by the parties addressed, lo those parties wc say, in Dr. 
Cnmpbcirs own icordst and with infinitely moro truth, *The 
article seems to have been specially prepared for the weak, less 
worthy, and less intelligent portion of your community. It could 
not be meant for the men of sense ; its authors could only hope 
that, by them, it would be overlooked, or, if seen, endured.* 
Our note on jiaf^r llt2 explains the special bitterness of the 
writer's allu^ion> In the editor of the ' Haptibt Magazine * — 


a man aa superior to bis accuser in modesty and eterling 
rectitude, as he ii inferior in trickery, Taantiag pretcnBton, 
and an-oguice. 

How eren Dr. Campbell could venture to print what lie has 
written, respecting the reference of that gentleman to the article 
in the ' Church,' is marvellous. Common decency ought to 
have counselled silence on such a point, after what he had 
done in the matter of Mr. Miall's volume and the ' Evan- 
gelical Magazine.' But we cease to wonder at any thing &om 
this qoarter. 

Of the extracts given, we say nothing. The writers of most 
of them are evidently uninformed on many points of the case ; 
and one, at least, ought, for very shame, to be silent in any 
matter pertaining to the ' Eclectic' On a perusal of the whole 
address, we cannot better express our judgment than in the 
wfffds of Dr. Campbell himself in this very article. ' Of two 
evils, both bad, it b not easy to say which tha more abounds — 
— unblushing falsehood, or cunning malignity.' Tlic editor of 
the ' Chutth ' will not much distress hirasclt' at such a charge 
from SQch a quarter. It would be well for his accuser if all 
who know htm would as readily give a verdict in his favour. 
Before concluding we should like to ask the editor of the 
'Banner' whether he received a letter from the Rev. Charles 
Stovel, repudiating the construction put on his speech at the 
last anniifll meeting of the Baptist Home mission, as 'making 
a distinct and uumistakcablc allusion to the recent transactions of 
the " Eclectic Review ?" ' Such was Dr. Campbell's language in 
the * Banner ' of April 24, when he wanted to damage the 
character of Dr. Price, and to destroy tlie 'Eclectic' Did 
he then, we ask, receive a communication from Mr. Stovel, 
denj-ing his having intended any such allusion, and, if he did, 
why was not the letter printed? If the fact be so — and wo 
challenge Dr. Campbell to answer our inquiry — what can be 
thought of the effrontery of the following passage, printed in 
the ' Banner ' of the 19th : — ' Above all things, integrity is 
essential to the conduct of the press. A fig for intelligence, 
for eloquence, for everything, in the absence of integrity.' We 
want words to express our estimate of what is involved in com- 
bining such deeds with such words. Let the one or the other 
be abandoned. They cannot hold together. 


sideratioiiB, as the shortest and Is not this to put forth a dann of 

surest method of severing the superior sanctity for themseWcs, 

Church from the State, is, to pro- and to set it up as a pica for the 

mote the triumph and reign of true neglect of an important duty ? Is 

religion in the land. . . . We it not here insinuated that opposi- 

thii^ the great work of the day tion to the Chnrch and State is nu 

ought to he the reviyal of religion compatible with the efficient dii- 

in the midst of the churches, and charge of pastoral functions ?*— 

its extension thronghout the whole Banner^ Sept. 97, 1848. 
land.' — Banner, April 17. 

We have done, and now leaye it to the Nonconformists of 
Great Britain to judjze between the Anti-state^chnrch Association 
and its assailant If his temper and discretion, the soundness of 
his judgmenti his rectitude, purity of motivei and unselfishness, 
command their confidence, they will, of course, pronounce against 
the former ; but if they ful to recognise these qualities, they will 
cling to the society the more firmly from its uying beconie the 
object of his bitter enmity. Of their decision we entertain no 
doubt. The course which is applauded by such joumak as the 
' Watchman,' ' Record,' and * Mominff Herald,' cannot have the 
approval of the Dissenters of England, and we look^ therefore, 
with unfaltering confidence to the luture. It is well to know ov 
enemies. A false friend is a source of weakness, and from thii 
danger the society is now exempt. We hasten to dismiss tlt^ 
assaOant and the assault, pitying tne one and smiling at the odier. 
In the discharge of our duty, as journalists, we have called things 
by their right names, and know no reason why we should Bol 
do so. It would have been far more pleasing to write in a 
difierent strain, but conscience would in such case have accused 
us of unfaithfulness to truth and to God. 

Since the above was in type, we have seen the 'BaniMf* 
of June 19th. A more miserable affair we never read thn 
the so-called 'Editorial Address to the Baptist Churcbea of 
Great Britain,' &c. It has all the untruthfulness and malev«» 
Icnce conspicuous in other productions of the writer^ without • 
particle of the force he sometimes displays. Wc never met wi& 
a duller or more pointless thine, and hope it will be widely read 
by the parties addressed, lo those parties wc say, in Dt, 
CninpbeU's own trords^ and with infinitely more truth, 'Hit 
article seems to have been specially prepared for the weak, lets 
worthy, and less intelligent portion of your community. It could 
not be meant for the men of sense ; its authors could only hope 
that, by them, it would be overlooked, or, if seen, endured.* 
Our note on pam* WZ explains the special bitterness of the 
writer\ allasion> to the editor of tlie 'Baptist Magaxine' — 


sideratioiiB, as the shortest and Is not this to put forth a dann of 

surest method of severmg the superior sanctity for thenu^Tcs, 

Church from the State, is, to pro- and to set it up as a plea for the 

mote the triumph and reign of true neglect of an important duty ? Is 

religion in the land. . . . We it not here insinuated that opposi- 

think the great work of the day tion to the Churdi and State is m- 

ought to be the revival of religion compatible with the efficient dii- 

in the midst of the churches, and charge of pastoral functions ?*— 

its extension throughout the whole Banner^ Sept. ST, 1848. 
land.' — Bmnefj April 17. 

We have done, and now leave it to the Nonconformists of 
Great Britain to judee between the Anti-state-chnrch Association 
and its assailant If his temper and discretion, the soundness of 
his judgmentj his rectitude, purity of motivci and unselfishness^ 
command their confidence^ they will> of course, pronounce againit 
the former ; but if they ful to recognise these qualities, they will 
cling to the society the more firmly from its having hecome the 
object of his bitter enmity. Of their decision we entertain no 
doubt. The course whicn is applauded by such journals as the 
' Watchman/ ' Becord/ and * Mominff Herald/ cannot have the 
ai>proval of the Dissenters of England, and we look^ therefore, 
with unfaltering confidence to the future. It is well to know ow 
enemies. A fsdsc friend is a source of weakness, and firom thia 
danger the society is now exempt. We hasten to dismiss (^ 
assailant and the assault, pitying tne one and smiling at the oth^. 
In the discharge of our duty, as journalists, we have called things 
hy their right names, and know no reason why we should nol 
do so. It would have been far more pleasing to write in ^ 
difierent strain, but conscience would in such case hare a cc naid 
us of unfaithfubicss to truth and to God. 

Since the above was in type, we have seen the 'Banafli' 
of June 19th. A more miserable affair we never read thaia 
the so-called 'Editorial Address to the Baptist Churchea ^ 
Great Britain,' &c. It has all the untruthfuhiess and male?#» 
Icnce conspicuous in other productions of the writer, withool f 
particle of the force he sometimes displays. We never met wi^ 
a duller or more pointless thing, and hope it will be widely rap 
hy the parties addressed, lo those parties we say, in Dn 
Cnmpbeirs own words, and with infinitely more truth, *Tbi$ 
article seems to have been specially prepared for the weak, lets 
worthy, and less intelligent portion of your community. It could 
not bo meant for the men of sense ; its autliors could only hope 
that, by them, it would be overlooked, or, if seen, endured.' 
Our note on pa^e 11J3 explain^ the special bitterncfs of the 
writer's iillusiuus t<» the editor <»f the * Bapli:>t Magazine '— 


sideratioiiB, as the shortest and Is not this to put forth a 

surest method of severmg the superior sanctitj for the 

Church from the State, is, to pro- and to set it up as a pics 

mote the triumph and reign of true neglect of an important di 

religion in the land. • . . We it not here insinuated thai 

think the great work of the day tion to the ChurdL and 8t 

ought to be the reviyal of religion compatible with the effic 

in the midat of the churches, and charge of pastoral fund 

its extension throughout the whole Banner^ Sept. ^7, 1848. 
land.* — Bimnsr, April 17. 

We have done, and now leaye it to the Nonconfori 
Great Britain to judjze between the Anti-state-church Ass 
and its assailant. If his temper and discretion^ the 8oun< 
his judgment, his rectitude, purity of motivei and unscli 
command their confidence, they will, of course, pronounce 
the former ; but if they fail to recognise these qualities, t 
cling to the society the more firmly from its having beo 
object of his bitter enmity. Of their decision we entci 
doubt. The course which is applauded by such joumaL 
' Watchman,' ' Becord,' and ' Morning Herald/ cannot 1 
approval of the Dissenters of Englima, and we look, th 
with unfaltering confidence to the future. It is well to ki 
enemies. A fsdsc friend is a source of weakness, and fi 
danger the society is now exempt. We hasten to dist 
assailant and the assault, pitying the one and smiling at th 
In the discharge of our duty, as journalists, we have callei 
by their right names, and know no reason why we she 
do 80. It would have been far more pleasing to wri 
different strain, but conscience would in such case have 
us of unfaithfulness to truth and to God. 

Since tlic above was in type, we have seen the *] 
of June 19th. A more miserable affair we never re 
the so-called 'Editorial Address to the Baptist Chur 
Great Britain,' &c. It has all the untruthfulness and 
lence conspicuous in other productions of the writer, wi 
particle of the force he sometimes displays. We never n 
a duller or more pointless thing, and hope it will be wid< 
by the parties addressed. To those parties we say, 
Campbell's ofrn ironh, and with infinitely more trutl: 
article seems to have bet-n specially prepared for the wi 
worthy, and less intelligent portion of your community, 
not be meant for the men of sense ; its authors could' on 
that, by them, it would be overlooked, or, if seen, ei 
Our note on payr lliJ i-xplainN thr special bittrriic!'> 
writer's iillusious to the editor «•! tlir * Haptist Maj^a 


a man as supmor to his accoser id modesty and Bterling 
mtitade, as he is inferior in trickery. Taunting pretension, 
nd arrogance. 

How eren Dr. Campbell could venture to print what he has 
vrttUm, respecting the reference of that gentleman to the article 
m the ' Cliurch,' ia marvellous. Common decency ought to 
We counselled silence on such a point, after what he had 
done in the matter of Mr. Miall's volume and the ' Evan- 
gelical Magazine.' But we cease to wonder at any thing &om 
ithii quarter. 

Of the extracts given, we aay nothing. The writers of moat 
■of them are evidently uninformed on many points of the case ; 
■nd one, at least, ought, for very shame, to be silent in any 
jnatlei pertaining to the ' Eclectic' On a perusal of the whole 
iddrvss, we cannot better express our judgment than ia the 
words of Dr. Campbell himself in this very article. ' Of two 
erils, both bad, it is not easy to say which the more abounds — 
— unblushing falsehood, or cunning malignity.* The editor of 
fte ' Church ' htD not much distress himself at such a charge 
VQBt such a (juarter. It would be well for his accuser if all 
*oo luiow him would as readily give a verdict in his favour. 
B^ire concluding we should uke to ask the editor of the 
^Muaer ' whether he received a letter irom the Bev. Charles 
ftovel, repudiating the construction put on his speech at the 
lait armujil meeting of the Uaplist Home mission, as ' milking 
adistinct and un mi stake able allusion to the recent transactions of 
the " Eclectic Review ?" ' Such was Dr. Campbell's language in 
the ' Banner ' of April 24, when he wanted to damage the 
character of Dr. Price, and to destroy the ' Eclectic.' Did 
he then, we ask, receive a communication from Mr. Stovel, 
denying his having intended any such allusion, and, if he did, 
»hy was not the letter printed? If the fact be so — and wc 
chdlenge Dr. Campbell to answer our inquiry — what can be 
thought of the effrontery of the following passage, printed in 
he ' Banner ' of the 19th : — ' Above all things, integrity is 
essential to the conduct of the press. A fig for intelligence, 
or eloquence, for everything, in the absence of integrity.' Wc 
►ant words to express our estimate of what is involved in corn- 
lining such deeds with such words. Let the one or the other 
te abandoned. They cannot hold together. 


%ml Mv&as. 

77ie Mm of OUugoWj and the Women of Scotland; Beaeomijvr Differ^ 
ingfrom the Rev, Dr, Symington's View of the Levitical Marriage Law. 
By T. Binney. 8vo. Pp. 68. London : Ward and Co. 

Tuia pamphlet was written by request, for the information of a gentle- 
man, appomted by a public meeting, at Glasgow, to proceed to London 
as part of a deputation, to oppose Mr. Wortley*s Marriage Bill. It so 
happened, that Mr. Binney visited Qlasgow in April last, immediately 
after a lai^e meeting had been held there in opposition to this measure ; 
and as his views were known to be favourable to it, the topic became 
matter of conversation, and was subsequently adverted to in the corre- 
spondence of his Scotch friends. Dr. Symington's speech at the meet- 
ing in question was greatly applauded ; and so high was the estimate 
formed of its ability and conclusiveness, that it was published as a 
separate tract, and copies of it were forwurded to Mr. Binney. Such, in 
brief, are the circumstances out of which this pamphlet hat grown ; and 
as we have read it with very considerable interest, so we should have 
been glad to devote considerable space to it, if time had permitted. It 
has reached us, however, so late in the month, that we must either be 
content to notice it briefly, or must defer it till the time will have 
passed for its doing the service which it is so admirably adapted 
to accomplish. The question itself is imminent ; and we have, there- 
fore, resolved to introduce the pamphlet at once, with our hearty, 
though brief commendation. 

We have rarely met vdth a piece of controverrial writing more 
to our mind. It is at once calm, clear, forcible, and decided ; 
free from asperity and assumption, yet earnest in its tone and em- 
phatic in its enunciation of the views embraced. * I believe my 
own views to be right,' says Mr. Binney, * and I shall try to 
prove this by constructing as sound and strong an argument as I 
can. If it be unsound, why then it will not hold together. It will be 
answerable. Let it be answered. Only let it be done by arffument.' 
The subject discussed is obvious from the title-paffe ; and its great 
importance will be readily admitted by all who have attended to 
the discussion recently carried on. Mr. Binney examines, with 
much pains-taking, the Levitical law pertaining to the matter, and 
by a variety of tests, brings out, as it appears to us, triumphantly, 
the conclusion, that, in Leviticus xviii. 18, ' Marriage with a de- 
censed wife's sister is recognised and |)crmitted in express terms. To 
forbid the possession, at the same time, of two sisters, as wives, and to 
sanction it successionally, are the two sides of the one thing^ which that 
particular clause of the Levitical marriage-law which we have been 
considering, was intended to embody.' The scriptural argument is 
thoroughly sifted, and the various pleas founded on general principles, 
which are urged in opposition to his view9. are examined with acute - 
noss and unsparing logic. To those who know Mr. Binney's writing> 


it will suffice to say that the pamphlet is eminently characteristic ; 
and to all others we say, read it for yourselves, do this immediately and 
with ordinary candour, and we shall be surprised if you do not admit 
that the theory to which the^ author is opposed, is thoroughly de- 
molished, without any such exhibition as frequently mars the triumphs 
of controTersialists. 

The Apostles* School of Prophetic Intetpretation ; with its History ^ dovon 
to the Present Time. By Charles Maitland, Author of * The Church 
in the Catacombs.' London : Longman and Co. 

* In this work it has been attempted to collect together everything that 
the apostles taught the Church on the subject of unfulfilled prophecy — 
to ascertain all that the primitive believers might know as Jews, and 
all that they believed as Christians. This school of prophecy is next 
traced historically, through its fallings-off and its revivals, down to 
the present time. An appendix contains a short notice of the principal 
counter-interpretations.' Thus far Mr. Maitland in his statement of 
intention. ThsX the intention has been most diligently carried out, 
we willingly testify. The plan adopted is to give copious extracts 
from the wide field of authorities — Jewish, Apostolical, Patristic, and 
more modem, through which the author ranges: these quotations 
being set in a lively historical commentary. As the work is historical, 
it is needless for us to enter on the disputed points. It will be enough 
to mention that, according to Mr. MaiUand, &e apostolic school is the 
one which, scouting the year-day theory, maintains that no prediction 
containing a set time' is to be 'fulfilled in any other measure of 
time ;' regards Antichrist as an individual man yet to appear ; holds 
the pre-millennial advent ; and professes to be the only consistent, 
intelligible, literal, and apostolic interpreter. Mr. Maitland has 
collected a large mass of valuable historical proofs of the early, wide- 
spread reception of these views ; principally those parts of them which 
have reference to the four monarchies, the identification of Babylon 
with Home, and its distinction from Antichrist. To all students 
of prophecy, who are desirous of studying the history of its interpreta- 
tion, tiie book will be very valuable ; and to less learned readers it 
presents many attractions. Although prepared evidently with in- 
defatigable labour, it is by no means a dry synopsis of criticisms — 
but absolutely runs over with animation. Mr. Maitland emerges from 
the chest of musty tomes as fresh and lively as if he had been 
wandering among * hedge-rows green.' His style is one of unflagging 
vivacity— often forcible, often picturesque, full of sly hits and quiet 
sarcasm — which mingle oddly enough sometimes with the patristic 
learning round about them ; but which, nevertheless, make the work 
what is called ' readable,' and will not make the mass of erudition 
which it contains less likely to be retained by the student. People 
who conceive that books which are solid must necessarily be heavy, 
may dificr from us ; but, for ourselves, we heartily thank Mr. Maitland 
for his valuable contributions to doctrine and history, and wish some 
other labourers in the same field would take a leaf out of hb book. 


The Poetical Work$ of Jamee Montgomery. Collected by himself. 

London : Longman and Co. 

The name of James Monteomerj needs no introduction to the readers 
of the ' Eclectic.' It is a familiar sound, and has long Been associated 
with their ideas of poetic genius, large philanthropy^ and devout feel- 
ing. That such an author should be popular, to the extent of calling 
for two large editions of his collected poems— -one in 1836, and the 
other in 1841— is a i^easiAg indication of the state of the public mind, 
and must be eminently gratifying to Mr. Mont^mery. We rejoice in 
the fact on his own account, but we rgoice in it yet mote as proof of 
the prevalence of sound taste and of healthfbl moral feeling. It is the 
more gratifying as Mr. Montgomery's early career was fiercely assailed 
by some of the leviathans of Hterature, whose hostility to his religioos 
sentiments gave point and venom to Uieir critical awards* The pie- 
ieaes and notes contained in this volume greatly add to the value of 
&e edition, which is printed, the author modestly tells us, * in m more 
condensed form, with the ho^ that compositions, which at intervals 
through more than a quarter of a century, had previously obtained 
considerable attention, may yet secure some measure of similar in- 
dulgence for a few years longer.' 

We need scarcely say that the style in which the volume is brought 
out, b worthy both of the poet and of his publishers. It is at once 
tasteful and elegant— ^tted alike for the drawing-room and the study. 
It is not needful to say one word in its commendation, A move appro- 
priate or beautiful present could not well be made to a cultivated fnend. 

A Lift tf Chrtetopher Cokmihm. By Horace Roseoe 8t John. Lon- 
don: 8. Low. 

Wb have read this small volume with very considerable pleaeare, and 
can honestly and warmly recommend it to our readers. It supplies, 
what has long been wanted in our language, a brief, yet aecncate sketdk 
of the romantic life of Columbus, written by a man of eultivaied taste, 
and of sufficient information rightly to appreciate the services cf the 
^at navigator. The volume was prepared without the aid of Wash- 
mgton Irving's work, and was originally intended to be much larger. 
The appearance of the latter probably led Mr. St. John to abandon his 
design, while it enabled him readUlv to fill in the slighter det^ls of his 
narrative. He pays a generous tribute to his contemporary, congratu 
lating Washington Irving * on his work, and America on the historian 
of her discovery.' This is as it should be, alike hoBomable to bolk 
parties^ and woraiy of imitation. Mr. St. John's vohmie bespeaks ex- 
tensive knowledge, sound judgment, and a right impreeiation of Uo 
hero. It is written with ease, fluency, and taste, l&e style is, in fiMt, 
m harmony with the theme, and the two make up a vofanne, tbo 
perusal of which, when once commenced, few will be content to leave 
unfimshcd. * If,' says the author, in a prefeee, the modest and gene* 
reus temirar of which cannot be praised too highly, ^ not elaboiale in 


its details, or complete in its execution, this narrative be found a true 
sketch of, his c^ef^, it will have seryed its purpose. Ab it is modestly 
presented, so I hope it will be considerately judged.' 

Cfraee and IVuth. By Octavius Winslow, M.A. London : Shaw. 

This volnaie is full of devout reflections, couched in language of a kind 
fMg^ly read by many good peo^^ whose highest eulogium is * beao- 
tifnl book.' The authinr's evident piety is worthy of all respect, his 
tiiemea are deeply important, and to rnany^ his book will be very coni'- 
fbrting. To us, we eonfoss^ it has, like most modem volumes of its 
•choolf a somewhat sickly religious sentimental aspect We miss in 
the practical religions books of the present day, the bone and muscle of 
their rough predecessors ; and we would wiUii^ly give a ton of the conu 
pazfttive refinement and feebleness, guiltless of all thought, which our 
devotional writers seem now-a-days to think the necessary accompani- 
nient of their pious observations, for one grain of the former. We 
eommend to Jdr. Winslow, giving him all credit for having written 
what many wilt higUy value, an cM advice, * add to your fiBdt3i«-*virtue^ 

A Voice from the North; or^ the Foundation and PhOoiophy of Lmda^ 
Unw and Oovemmental Principlee: ^ Ways and Means of Social 
AmeUoraHon deducibie therefrom^ and their hearinas iq>on the true 
Happiness of Man. In a Series of Letters^ dedicated and addressed to 
M« leading British Statesmen of the day. By a Minister of the Church 
of Scotland. London: Wilson. 

This concise and lucid title-page fironts seventy pages of the same sort 
of stuff, designed as an introductory epistle to the leading British 
statesmen, &c. — ^unfolding the author's political fundamental principle, 
that the Mosaic law is a digest of the elements of legislation and rule 
for all nations at all times. Apropos to this, we have a history of the 
world from Adam ; a sketch of the French revolution ; an eloquent 
plea for the admission of the Jews into Parliament ; several apocalyptic 
speculations; and a few other matters, set forth in a style the reverse of 
the old divine's profession, * for the matter largely, but for the manner 
in few words.' 

The Seif Instructor in Oerman, By Falck Lebahn, Author of ' German 
in One Volume,' ' Practice in Qerman,' &c. London : Simpkin, Mar* 
shall, and Co. 1850. 

Tkb high repute which Mr. Falck Lebahn already enjoys among the pro- 
fessors and die students of the Qerman language, will be in every way 
enhanced by the present voltune. His first book may be said to have 
been the portal ; his second was the avenue of approach ; but he has 
now entered the interior, and presents us with two comedies— -the 
tme from the pen of Kotzebue, the other from that of the powerfrd 
and prolific Schiller. They have been judiciously chosen, and are 
remarkable for their interest. A fall vocabulary, and copious ezplana- 


tory notes, lead the learner through the intricacies of the plays, with 
all the facility of an accomplished guide. We recommend the ' Self- 
Instructor ' to the notice of all who haye entered on the study of the 
German tongue, which is in itself rich in resources, and has become a 
fayourite and fashionable study in this country. The book will prove 
a most yaluable master, and if accompanied by its predecessors forms 
a library of instruction in the language. We speak thus confidently 
from actual experience. All we know of German we haye leamt from 
Mr. Lebahn's books, and the British press has borne a universal testi- 
mony in their favour. We owe thanks to a gentleman of high literary 
and classical acquirements, who leaves his country to diffuse among us 
a knowledge of his native language. It is, therefore, perhaps, super- 
fluous to repeat that we consider the * SeLT-Instructor,' and its com- 
panion volumes, entitled to the highest praise that can be bestowed on 
writers of this class. They are plain, practical, complete, and well- 

Brief OutUne of the Study of Theoloay^ drawn up to serve ae the baeie of 
Introductory Lectures. By the late Dr. Friedrich Schleiermacher. 
To which are prefixed, ' Reminiscences of Schleiermacher,* by Dr. 
Friedrich Lucke. Translated from the German, by William Farrer, 
LL.B. Edinburgh: Clark. 

Mistiness is g^erally supposed to be an attribute of German theo- 
logy in its best form, while some good folks shrewdly suspect that 
to the smoke is added in large measure the fume of brimstone. It 
must, we should think, somewhat surprise those who have fancied 
that we English possess a monopoly of clear, definite ideas* to find 
that the most methodical, rigidly precise ground-plan of the entire 
science of theology, exhibiting all its parts in their mutual connexion 
and relative value to the whole, existing in our language, is this trans- 
lation of a German work. It gives, what our theologi<»l literature has 
long wanted, a skeleton of the objects of theology, apart from a dis- 
cussion of Uie various opinions held upon them; furnishing the 
student with a broad, comprehensive outline of the whole range of his 
science— a sort of block-plan of the city, or geological map of the 
country — in contradistinction to the systems of theology wnieh we 
have been accustomed to, and which, in the author's own words, arc 
*" material^ rather Hhen formal^ encydopasdias, discussing the eom^mie 
of the various branches of the science, rather than their orgamkaiiim* 
This is an object which, excepting a few introductory lectures from a 
few professors of divinity, our ^iglish theologians have almost lost 
sight of. Instead, we have had monogra|mB from them on all 
subjects— bones very many; but they have never, as thej ought, 
supplied us with an outline of the principles on which bone is to eome 
to bone— the scattered truths to be knit together in one. We do 
not enter here on any discussion of the correctness of Schleiennacher*a 
division, but simply notice the fact, that this volume supplies us with m 
masterly sketch, developed with an aphorism-like compression, both of 
thought and language, and with a calm, clear breadth of vision, ranging 


over the whole field, without ever losing sight of the unity of the 
whole, which leaves nothing to be desired. 

Mr. Farrer has executed his task in a manner deserving the highest 
praiae. He has put the book into English ; which is more than we 
can say of the numerous half-competent translators, who are flooding 
UB wiUi a Babylonish dialect, unintelligible to anybody of either 
nation. We are glad to see that he intimates an intention of continuing 
his work on other of Schleiermacher's writings, if the present volume 
should be favourably received. We trust that the intelligent students 
of theology in England will soon relieve him of any doubt on (hat 

litramj Siifelligraif- 

Just Published. 

The English (Gentry must save the Charch. A Letter to the Hon. Mr. 
Gavendish, on Occasion of his Address to the Bishop of London. 

The Sunday School Senior-class. An Essay. By J. A. Cooper. 

Exposition of the Gospel according to St. Luke, in a Series of Lectures. 
Chapters IX. — XX. By James Thomson, D.D. Vol. H. 

Missionary Encouragements in India ; or, the Christian Village in Gdjurat. 
By Rev. Wm. Clarkson. 

Memorials of Worth ; or, Sketches of Pious Persons lately deceased. By 
Rev. Robert Simpson. 

The Crucifixion, and other Poems. By James Waymouth. 

The Theory of Human Progression and Natural Probability of a Reign of 

A Sunday in London. By J. M. Capes, M.A. 

Latter-day Pamphlets. Edited by Thomas Carlyle. No. VL Parliaments. 

In Memoriam. 

An Historico-critical Introduction to the Pentateuch, By H. A. Ch. 
Havemick. Translated by Alex. Thomson, A.M. 

The National Cyclopaedia of Useful Knowledge. Vol. X. R— Siege. 

A Life of Christopher Columbus. By Horace Roscoe St. John. 

History of Hannibal the Carthaginian. By Jacob Abbott 

The Amyotf 8 Home ; or, Life in Childhood; 

A Review of the Jewish and Christian Commonwealths, forming an internal 
Proof of the Divine Origin and Truth of Christianity. 

A Plea for the Spiritual Element of Education. By E. R. Humphreys, 

A Letter to the Most Noble the Marquis of Lansdowne, on the Reform 
and Extension of the Parish School System of Scotland. By Robert 8. 
Candhsh, D.D. 


Blackfrian Wynd, analysed. By George Bell, M.D. 

The Vale of Cedars ; or, the Murtyr. A Story of Spain in the Fifteenth 
Century. By Grace Aguilar. 

Letters on Happiness. Addressed to a Friend. By the Author of ' Letters 
to my Unknown raends.' 

The Revelation of St John ; simply analyzed and briefly expounded. By 

Wanderings in some of the Western Republics of America. By George 
Byam, late 4drd Light LifSuitry. 

The Lyrical Dramas of ^chylus. From the Greek. Translated into 
English verse, by John Stuart Blackie. Two Vols. 

New College, London. Address of the Committee, and Preliminary State- 
ment With ^e Address delivered at the laying of tiie First Stone. By Dr. 
Pye Smith. 

, An Essay on the Opium Trade, as carried on in India and China. By 
Nathan Allen, MJ). 

Regeneration, or Divine and Human Nature. A Poem, in Six Books. 
By George Marsland. 

The Men of Glasgow and the Women of Scotland. Reasons for difiering 
from the Rev. Dr. Symington's View of the Levitical Marriage Law. By 
T. Binney. 

The life of a Vagrant, or the Testimony of an Outcast to the Value and 
Truth of the GospeL To which is added, a Brief and Original Aoeount of 
Andries Stoffles, the African Witness. 

The Norwedan Sailor. A Sketch of the Life of George Nosooe. Written 
by himself: With an Litroductory Note, by Rev. Thomas Raflkt, D J). 
rmb. Edition, with an Account of his Death. 

A Brief Notice of the Life of the Rev. Edward Biekersteth. By Sir 
C. K Efldrdley, Bart Reprinted ttoixk * Evangelical Chrialaidoai/ with 


Eastern Monachism : an Account of the Origin, Laws, Discipline, Sacred 
Writings, Mysterious Rites, Religious Ceremonies, and Present dream- 
stances, of the Order of Mendicants founded by Gotama Budha ; with Com- 
parative Notices of the Usages and Institutions of the Western AacetieBi and 
a Review of the Monastic System. Bj R. Spenoa Hardy, Membor of the 
Ceylon Branch of the Royal Aiiatio Society. 

A Letter to the Rev. Jabes Bunting, D J)., Preddent of the Theolocieal 
Institution, suffgesting * A Plan of Pad&ation.' By William HaiTii» Prefl&ent 
of the Local rnt^hm Mutual Aid Association. 

Popular Elevation the Work of the People ; being an Kiaminatinn of the 
existmg Elements for the Intellectual, Spiritual, Moral, and PoKtieal Im- 
provement of Modem Society. By Rev. Brewin Grant, BLA* 

An Inquiry into the Histoiy and Character of Rahab. By Rev. J. H. 
Oumter, B J>. 

Three Sermons on the Doctrine of Justiileatioo, and its RaraHs. Ttrnthted 
at the Evening Service in Lee Church, Bladiheath. By Wm« FVaacis 
8mM, M*A. 



AUGUST, 1850. 

Art. I. — 1. Drauffht of a Bill ^ for Abolishing the Payment of Fines and 
Stamp Duties on the Admission of Freemen of the City of London^ 
and for Making and Keeping a Roll of the Citizens of the said City* 
QMr. Hume.] 

2. Petition of Commonalty and Citizens of London^ to be presented to 
the House of Commons for Restoration of their Ancient Liberties. 

3. What is the Corporation of London f And, Who are the Freeman? 
By J. Toulmin Smith, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn, Barrister-at-Law. 
London : Effingham Wilson. 

4. Proceedings of Wardmotes in Farringdon Without, November, 1849 
—Mayy 1850. 

5. Corporation of London ' Reform,* Letter to Sir James Duke, Bart.^ 
M.P., Alderman of the Ward of Farringdon Without By J. Toul- 
min Smith, Esq., 3rd January, 1850. 

6. Address of the Citizens of the Ward of Farringdon Without, in the 
City of London, to their Fellow -Citizens of the other Wards in the 
said City, 

7. Memorial of the Citizens of the Ward of Farringdon Without, in 
Wardmote Assembled, 0th January, 1850, to the Lord Mayor, 



Aldermen, and Commons, of the City of London, in Common 

8. Abstract of Returns of the Number of Householders, distinguishing 
Freemen and Non-Freemen, together with the Numbers on the List 
of Voters, made under the Act 12 and 13 Vict., cap. 94. Presented 
to the Court of Common Council, 22nd November, 1849. 

9. Report of the City Solicitor to the Court of Aldermen on the Stamp 
Duty, payable upon admission of Persons by redemption to the Free- 
dom of the City. February, 1850. 

The abuses of the corporation of London have been a standing 
topic for declamation and satirical jocularity for a quarter of a 
century. The call for reform has been both loud and long ; but 
like all popular demands, where earnestness of purpose and con- 
sistency of action were wanting, it was a cry, and nothing more. 
Men of keen moral sense were justly indignant at the mis- 
management, jobbery, and tinsel extravagance, which have 
characterised corporate administration of corporate property 
under the oligarchic rule of the last one hundred and twenty- 
five years ; and wrath found vent in the grumblings, loud and 
deep, of hard-taxed citizens, and in the lighter artillery of 
innumerable jokes and jokelets. Men only looked at the surface 
of the evil ; they saw not the fruitful cause of abuse in the 
oligarchic usurpation of 1724, which, through fraud and force, 
subverted the free constitution of a thousand years, and consti- 
tuted the metropolitan municipality a ^eat central example of 
Irresponsible misrule. And so will it always be, when empirical 
expedients are preferred to fundamental principles. In the 
' pusillanimous and degenerate race,' who have supinely borne 
the accumulated abuses of the system, one can scarce bcueve he 
sees the descendants of the good men and true who did the 
commonwealth such service in stern times of old. Quiet men 
have lamented, and noisy men have declaimed, on these abases, 
but the kingdom of Cockayne is still governed under the popu- 
lar encroachments of the infamous 'Alderman's Act.' It is 
true that the city of London rejoices in the possession of the 
* Reform Act' of 1849 — the beautiful and consistent statute 
of 12 and 13 Victoria, under which a constituency which had 

frrown * small by degrees,' by a bound became so * beautiiullj 
ess,' that citizens of discernment have abandoned hope of pre* 
serving even the form of representation, for want of a consti- 
tuency. In this state of affairs a * reform,' as it is vaguelj 
termed, or as we take leave to phrase it, a renovation of the 
corporation of London, has become a vital necessity. 


Mr. Hume has undertaken to introduce a bill into the House 
of Commons ' for abolishing the payment of fines and stamp- 
duties on the admission of freemen of the city of London, and for 
making and keeping a roll of the citizens of the said city.' 
Brevity and perspicuity have long been lost sight of in the 
mechanics of law-making. It is a relief, therefore, to turn from 
the mighty maze of our statute-book since the days of the Revo- 
lution, illustrating so copiously, as Sheridan once remarked, 
legislation on ' the-house-that- Jack-built' principle,? to a bill of 
three clauses, which seems to meet all the requirements of the 
time, and to provide legitimately for the wants and wishes of 
those concerned, not by experimental enactments in the set phrase 
of parliamentary verbosity, but according to constitutional prin- 
ciple, and with the forcible brevity of a declaration of rights. 
Mr. Hume's — or, if parliamentary conventionalism will permit 
honour to whom honour is due, Mr. Toulmin Smith's bill, is not 
only a model bill, but, in the Baconian sense, an exhaustive 
measure ; it is at once radical and conservative — radical, in up- 
rooting the excrescence of class-rule, by which abuses were 
fostered and maintained ; conservative, in restoring to the com- 
monalty their precious birthright of self-government. 

The bill declares, that by the ancient common law of England, 
every man who has been an occupier within any city or borough 
for tiie space of a year and a day, becomes thereby a free man, 
entitled to the exercise and enjoyment of all the rights and liber- 
ties, and liable to the discharge of all the duties and obligations, 
of a citizen and freeman, within such city or borough. It then 
sets forth, that in restraint of the said good and wholesome law, 
certain fines have been imposed and levied, and stamp-duties 
exacted in limitation of the number of those entitled to the rights 
of citizenship, and liable to the discharge of the co-ordinate duties. 
The bill, therefore, provides for the total repeal of these imposi- 
tions, municipal and legislative, and declares and enacts that 
every man wTio shall occupy, ' on his own behalf, either separately 
or jointly, and either by way of residence, or for the purpose of 
carrying on there his own proper lawful business, calling, or 
profession (and not merely as the servant, or in the pay of 
another person), any house, part of a house, chambers, or other 
premises within the city of London, for the space of a year and a 
day, is, and shall thereby become a citizen and free man, and 
member of the body corporate of the said city,' entitled to all 
the rights and liberties, and to vote at every election for alder- 
man, common councilmen, and all other functionaries and 
officers whose election is usually made in wardmote. The second 

• * This is a law to alter a law to improve a law to add to a law that Jack 

K 2 


section provides that a roll of the citizens and freemen shall be 
kept by the alderman of each ward, and that wardmotes shall, 
' for the above, together with such other purposes as shall seem 
good to the occupiers within each ward,' be held four times in 
Ccjch year ; namely, in March, June, September, and December, 
when the roll shall be amended and made good. In this clear 
and concise measure are embodied the leading principles of the 
admirable system of self-government on which English liberty 

The corporation of London, notwithstanding its oligarchism and 
abuses, which are rather to be considered as excrescences than 
constitutional defects, is justly entitled to the respect and regard 
of all free men. It is an epitome of the ancient popular consti- 
tution of England, against which so many sneers have lately been 
directed by mere party politicians, through ignorance of its 
true character and worth. The corporation of London is the most 
complete representative left in this country of that sound and 
wholesome system of local self-government which formed the 
basis of our Saxon institutions, and which existed in full activity 
and healthy vigour throughout the whole land. In the popular 
passion at the present day for submitting everything, from man's 
birth to his burial, to the legislative pleasure of rarliament — 
the result, not the source of power — we have lost sight of the 
great fundamental principles on which our Saxon ancestors built 
English freedom. It is not very surprising, therefore, that 
politicians, who go no further back than the revolutionary settle- 
ment of 1688 for their ^ constitutional principles,' should 
occasionally indulge in hackneyed sneers at the wisdom of their 
ancestors. Nothing can be clearer to him who reads constitu- 
tional history aright — not in the treatises and essays of modem 
compilers, but in the originals of our records — that the Saxon 
constitution embodied as perfect a system of popular self- 
government as was ever tried in any country, or at any time. 
The system of local legislation, which Milton propounded as an 
element in his ideal of a perfect commonwealth — although the 
practice had in his day become disused, under the successive 
encroachments of kings, nobles, and parliaments — was, never- 
the less, then actually in legal existence by the common law of 
England. It is only necessary now to refer to the progressive 
development of self-government, from the family to the whole 
common wrath, in the institutions of the ty things, hundreds, 
shires, and common council, or parliament, of the whole realm. 
11us was the practical application of the two great fundamental 
principles of the constitution, everywhere apparent in our ancient 
laws — that all law must spring from the people, and be ad- 
ministered by the people ; principles the establishment of which 



ii beyond the memory of history, older than the doscriptiona 
of Tacitus of the parent German stock of the Anglo-Saxon race. 
On the other hand, it is a remarkable fact, that all the encroach- 
ments on the right of the commonalty to administer the laws 
made by them, are of comparatively modern date, and are made by 
eipresa statutory enactments — thus affording prima facie legal 
endence of an antecedent common law or popular custom, which 
imyone familiar with our records can verify by a cloud of proofs.* 
It has been well observed by Mr. Toulmin Smith, in one of his 
learned and ingenious works on the conBtitution, that the very 
fact of members of Parliament being, of ancient right, sent up 
from any place, is in itself evidence that the place sending them 
formed an institution of local self-government for all other 
purposes ; for the sending up of representatives was merely an 
meident to, not the essential purpose of, the institution ; and the 
penona sent were anciently not elected specially for that 
purpose, but were those who had been chosen to one of the 





This i- an impnrlanl cons-titiition.i! fact, involving groat moral 
and political considerations, which must be apparent to every 
reader versed in the philosophy of government, but which arc 
altogether ignored in contcmpoiarv movements for political re- 
form*. In passing, we may be permitted to remark, that these 
institutions of local self-government are now part and parcel of 
the existing law of this land ; not in the irngmentary fictions of 
'boards "and 'trusts,' 'councils,' and other siU-dilusion,*, esla- 
bli-ht-d under the policy of centralization, but in the healthy 
verltv of the fulkmotcs, in all their wrll-oigani/ed di-velopmculs 
.;nd ramific-itions throughout the politic^d system. .T<>li;-rsDn. thi; 
American stat'^smau, was prof.nuidiv impressi-d with the phllo- 
-uphy of localization ; and he lameiitVd. if we reuumbt v rlglitly. it not C^irried out on a m.)rc complete jihiii. ' It is not,' 
h(. says. ' by the consolidation or concentration of powers, but 
by their distribution, that good government is efi'ectLd. Were 
not tiiis great country (the United Sjtatcs) already divided into 



I.-,jlriii.l aiirl lluncnry 


States, that division must be made, that each might do for itself 
what concerns itself directly, and what it can so much better do 
than a distant authority. Every state, again, is divided into 
counties, each to take care of what lies within its local bounds ; 
each county, again, into townships or wards, to manage minuter 
details ; and every ward intp farms, to be governed each by its 
individual proprietor. Were we directed from Washington 
when to sow and when to reap, we should soon want bread. It 
is by this partition of cares, descending in gradation from general 
to particular, that the mass of human affairs may be best managed 
for the good and prosperity of all.' The venerable statesman 
would have been more logically correct, had he described the 
process of government distribution in the ascending scale, from 
particular to general ; for, as before remarked, Parliament or 
Congress is only a result, not the source, of power. It is, 
however, precisely on the principle of the supposed absurdity of 
central direction for seed-time, that modem liberal governments 
of England act. All popular power is fast disappearing under 
the baneful progress of bureaucratic centralization. Almost 
everything but our lives has, within the last few years, been 
handed over by our * parliamentary representatives' to crown- 
appointed and irresponsible commissioners ; and now it is gravely 
proposed that, after we have * shuf&ed off this mortal coil,* our 
bodies are to be disposed of after the same fashion. Against this 
dangerous policy of encroachment on our liberties, the energies 
of every freeman should be aroused. It is lamentable to think 
that the loudest professing liberals arc the most active sup- 
porters and instruments of the system. Witness the recent 
attempts to substitute summary jurisdiction and the whip for 
trial by jury ; and the declaration in the House of Commons, by 
an eminent liberal member, that education is only a matter of 
government police! It only requires a self-helpmg effort to 
render these self-governmental institutions again practical veri- 
ties. Eevive the regular periodical meetings of the ancient 
shiremotes, and, if desirable, the subsidiary institution of the 
hundrcdmote, with the corresponding folkmotes of the cities 
and boroughs, which any number of freeholders and citisen 
occupiers may do hj a httle independence and exertion. All 
that remains to call mto sound and active existence an electoral 
body as extended as any of the * charters,' great or small, propose 
to do, is to repeal that oligarchical statute of 7 Henry \ I. c. 7, 
which first imposed, as a statutory restriction, what Mr. Cobden 
ond other reformers arc} fond, though most erroneously, of assert- 
ing to be a common-law franchise, namely, the forty-shilling 
freehold, as the test of electoral right. Much would require to 
be done in the way of statutory removal, in order to restore to 



the commonalty their ancient constitutional right to impose and 
collect all local taxation, and to administer the law by officers 
duly and lawfully appointed by the commonalty of the shire or 
town ; but, in as far as concerns placing the parliamentary electoral 
franchise on a solid basis, no course of policy has higher claims on 
the serious attention of reformers, either as respects soundness 
of principle or facility of action. It has additional claim on the 
consideration of the leaders of the Liberal party at a time when 
Government has propounded one of its favourite empirical 
measures for local legislation by county boards — a measure 
utterly devoid of constitutional principle (we use this much- 
abused phrase as synonymous with legal right), and one only of 
that prolific crop of Whig centralizing schemes, decked out 
in the finery and false pretences with which bureaucratic despots 
in all times have seduced the people to sell their birthright. 
The ' freehold land societies,' under good guidance, and divested 
of the character of a mere party movement, are calculated to 
render valuable aid to the cause of constitutional renovation ; 
but we are sorry to see symptoms of the centralizing spirit preva- 
lent in this movement, in the desire to render the provincial 
societies not self-dependent in direction as in effort, but to look 
for guidance to the central authority of London. ' Economy of 
management * will in the end be found a poor return for the 
sacrifice of the healthy principle of self-dependence. But these 
questions are of too great extent and moment to be thus inci- 
dentally discussed, and we must return to our proper theme — 
the corporation of London, in relation to the preservation of its 
ancient rights and institutions, which it is the object of Mr. 
Hume's bill to restore into full operation and efficiency. 

The movement by the citizens of the important ward of Far- 
ringdon Without (comprising about one-fourth of the population 
of London) is a very interesting and useful one in precept and 
good example, the only tolerable kind of centralization in a free 
country. But before we refer to it, it will be convenient to cite 
a few historical facts in support of the declaration of rights con- 
tained in this bill. We are indebted to Mr. Toulmin Smith' for 
an admirable statement of the law and constitutional history 
bearing on the question, in the pamphlet named in the title. 
The extensive research into the sources of our legal and histo- 
rical learning, the critical acumen, earnest truth- seeking, and 
large views of political philosophy which he has displayed in his 
various works on the ignored principles of our constitution, are 
all employed in the assertion and proof of the legal right^of 
the citizens of London. The men of Farringdon are not only 
indebted to him for direction and counsel, and actual leader- 
ship in the constitutional course they have had the wisdom 


to adopt on this occasion, but for this model bill, which would 
have done no discredit to the framers of the Petition of Right, 
albeit the great Coke was probably chief penman of that memo- 
rable document. 

Mr. Toulmin Smith, in the course of his argument, esta- 
blishes six points : — That, 

1. The only constitutional test of citizenship (i.e., co-extenstve 
rights and obligations) within the city of London, is a bond, fide 
interest in the well-being of the city, following from occupancy 

2. The presumption of law is, and has always been, that all 
occupiers are Free Men, and, therefore, full citizens. 

S. Even a proved serf-born, if he resided for a year and a day 
within any city, became, by the general law of England, thereby a 
Free Man ; and therefore entitled to all the rights and privileges, 
and liable to all the obligations, of a Free Man bom. 

4. This noble privilege was always largely availed of within 
the city of London : hence there were always maxij f reed-men 
among her free men and citizens. 

5. Any exclusive class of * freemen* within the city of Lon- 
don was unheard of till a comparatively late period ; and the 
existence of such a class, as composing the corporation, is un- 
recognised by, and in direct violation of, every charter, record, 
and statute. 

6. Wards and wardmotes are the constitutional and most effec- 
tive mode of keeping the roll of citizens perfect, and of keeping 
the citizens themselves in continual active discharge of their 
rights and duties as free men. 

The corporation of London, in common with the Common- 
wealth of England, has suffered from the want of knowledge — 
(we should be dubbed impertinent if we said ignorance) on the 
part of those ' popular authorities* from whom the commonalty 
of readers seek constitutional enlightenment The profound 
commentators and essayists who would have us believe that the 
English constitution came in with the Conqueror, have their 
counterparts in the learned civic historians, wno date the origin 
of the corporation from the charters of that monarch. It would 
be as absurd to say, as some have said, and as thousands believe, 
that freedom was granted to his subjects by John, when he 
affixed his name to Magna Charta, as that his valorous pre- 
decessor gave corporate rights to London. Neither of these 
monarchs granted rights which they had legally the power to 
bestow. Ihe so-called * grants' were only confirmations, in the 
common form of such instruments, of pre-existing rights, which 
one monarch made through policy or the force of circumstanccft 
— the other through necessity and the superior strength of his 


subjects. It is always an unpopular course to adduce remote 
history in support of modem policy, because few are prepared to 
enter into the argument. * Omne ignotum pro mirifico' is only 
a Tory truth ; scepticism is the rule on the other side. In 
referring to the times antecedent to the conquest of the English 
throne by William the Norman, neglected by all but a few 
patient antiquaries and truth-seekers, as the true period in which 
to seek the fundamental principles of our freedom, we have to 
meet, on the one hand, the conjoint oligarchism of the genuine old 
Tory, who admires antiquity for its rusty and of the Whig, whose 
first article of faith is, that liberty was born with Whiggery ; on 
the other, the excessive haste of unsparing Radicalism, which 
ignores all that is ancient, good and bad together, asserts that the 
English constitution is a mere fiction, and that all attempts to 
prove its reality from our fundamental laws are sheer antiquarian 
pedantry, unworthy of attention in an age of * enlightenment 
and progress.* We have dwelt on the importance of this period. 
Because we believe that the institutions' shaped by Alfred the 
Great, from the ruder elements of self-government, which had 
then endured for ages, are based on, and embody, the soundest 
principles of civil policy, which, if thoroughly comprehended 
and adapted to the more artificial wants of our times, would 
place rich and poor in more harmonious relation to each other, 
and by teaching all classes of men that human rights are only 
co-ordinate and co-existent with duties, evoke the better parts 
and sympathies of humanity. We speak not now of the direct 
antagonism of these institutions to that baneful policy of cen- 
tralization under which mediseval liberty fell. 

Our wise forefathers stoutly resisted the attempts of the civilians 
to supplant their cherished common law, and England has stood 
indebted to them for liberty preserved. Shall we, while long- 
slumbering nations have arisen to shake oflf the incubus of 
oppression, quietly submit to the centralizing encroachments 
which our rulers have made, and are yearly making with in- 
creased rapidity and extent, on our rights and privileges ? There 
are two courses — either to carry out to the fullest extent our 
local institutions of self-government, and, by a re- arrangement, 
to render them consistent with fundamental principles, and to 
develop them to the requirements of the times, or tamely submit 
to the yoke of despotism, under the mockery of a parliament, 
which, without a scruple, hands over its delegated power to irre- 
sponsible Crown-appointed commissions. The time has now 
come when we must either make a bold stand, or succumb 
ignobly. It will be well for freemen, who would live free, to 
bear in mind, that, as in our language, so in our institutions, the 
sinews and strength were given by our Saxon forefathers. 


attempting to admit a sheriff two years together ; while in 1270 
the citizens asserted and exercised their right to turn out any 
sheriff who misbehaved himself, and to choose another. 

In the reign of Edward III. we have a striking proof of 
Mr. Toulmin Smith's third proposition. It is necessary to 
premise that, by a declaratory law of William I., it was ex- 
pressly stated that, if * serfs shall have remained without 
complaint for a year and a day in our cities, or in walled towns, 
or in our castles, let them be fulfilled as free (liberi efficiantur) ; 
and free from the yoke of their bondage let them be for ever. ' * 
If the lord of a serf answered his serf in a court of law, it was 
reckoned, by * that noble common law which always favours 
liberty,' as an admission of the freedom of the other party. Id 
1373 certain seigneurs and commons of the land petitioned Par- 
liament, representing that, whereas many villains of the land go 
often to London, and there bring writs of debt and other 
contracts against their lords in the city of London, as being free, 
with evil intent, which city has no cognizance of villainage, 
they pray that villainage shall be tried in the shire where the 
villainage is alleged.' To which Parliament made this reply : 
' For the divers perils and mischiefs which would happen in this 
case, the king and his seigneurs do not wish at this time to 
change the common law as used heretofore.' f The writer of the 
ancient record above cited, who seems to have been as exclusive 
in his feelings hs any modem alderman conservative of abuses, 
speaks frequently in a querulous tone of the presence of men 
servile-born at the folkmote — invaluable testimony, certainly, in 
favour of the liberality and enlightenment of our citizen fore- 

One or two other illustrations of the democratic character of 
the corporation in ancient times. The statute 5 Edw. II. (1311) 
says, ^ Anciently it was provided, for the profit of the city and 
realm, and to preserve the peace of the king, that every 
alderman should hold four principal wardmotes in the year, to 
which should come all those who resided in the ward, of the age of 
fifteen years and upwards, and there be put in frankpledge,' &c. ; 
and two centuries and a half later we find, in the 1 ana 2 Phil. 
and Mary, a provision of a like nature. 

Only one passage has been adduced in favour of an exclaaive 
freemanship. In a report by the Traders' Freedom Committee, 
presented to the Court of Common Council on the 4th of July, 
1844, a passage is cited from the statute of Gavelet [10 Edw. Il!j, 
in which the words 'freemen of the city of London * occur. Mr, 

* Ancient Law5 and InHitutes, toI. i. p. 494. 
t Rot. Par., 47 Edward III.. No. 27. 


Toulmin Smith, with his usual desire for truth, has gone to the 
original, and found a mistranslation. The word translated 
'freemen' has an entirely different meaning and reference, 
pointing expressly and only to certain officers called ' sote- 
rceves, who represented the interests of certain lords, and other 
owneri of property within the city. 

We take another leap of 19S years, from Philip and Mary 

to Charles II. ; and in the famous, or infamous, proceedings of 

the Quo Warranto of 1682 we find proof equally valuable and 

conclusive. It was granted in the pleadings in that case, that 

the mayor, commonalty, and citizens — that is, the corporation — 

consisted of about 50,000 men ; and the learned recorder, Sir 

George Treby, the mouthpiece of the corporation, declared that 

. the 'least citizen has as much and as true an interest in the 

I corporation of the city of London as the greatest.' "When 

L So^^and happily freed herself from the tj'ranny and usurpa- 

fc IgU of the Stuarts, and when the 2 William and Mary, st. i. c. 8, 

B^h passed, to annul the illegal judgment on the Quo Warranto, 

P w mayor, commonalty, and citizens, were expressly restored to 

f ftrir ancient rights and liberties. 

The term ' freeman,' as an exclusive one, grew into use in 
reference to particular trading companies which existed within 
the city, but altogether independent, as companies, of the cor- 
inndon, althongh all the members were, and are, as indivi- 
Sulis, members of ihe bodv corpornfe. 

In 17-J-l,inid,ilhrLwmpt udjniiii^tr.itjon uf Gcoi-i.- 1„ tliu 
most iniquitous iiiroiid perhaps ovit mrulc on free instiliiliiins 
las perpclralcd under the sanction of i'arlTamcnt. The Act 
II Georjic I. e. IS — a private act be it lemembcred — was 
obtained by force and fraud. 

' Only thirty -five years (hhj-s Mr. ToulTniii Smitli) after tlie statute of 
William and Mary hnil w.i e\|>rrsj.lj' rL'-nfflrmod i|ie iLCtU.'il tun^lilution 
''U\i<: roriicjrolion. a ft-w alJcri^.-u. VL-j,';inlk>st, alikt ol' tl.eivi>uths, Iluiv 
<l"itj-, am! llitir t'uir fiimo, =niiL;lil trc;iili(.>roiisly to bclruy lliu iilti-iest.s 
thtfv wctc ii|nn)iTiiciI Id |iroliri; iiml liv iiu'au*i I'f ii LiirL'u|iT niiiiistvy 
i-'l l';ir!inTntnt. nnd IKl' r'^iiiiiim'- minnli. nnil ii ■i-lriiii;; inililiivy nnviy, nt 


curioiu in illustration of civic progression, and wc subj< 
abstract : — 

and Nort-Ft-Mmm, together unlh tha numheri on Ou Litt of VoUrs 

under the Jet 12 and 13 Victoria. 



















Aldengate .... 




















Billmgwate . . . 







Bi^opspite . . . 







Brendntreet . . . 








BrO^-StTMt . . . 













Candlcwicli . . . 




















Colemiui-ttreet . . 







CordiTHUierB . . . 







C^rahill .... 







Cripplegate Wiihin . 







CripplegBtc Wiihout 







Donate .... 







Furnngdon Within. 







Famngdon Without 







Ijuigbouru . . . 







Lime-itrcet . . . 






Portaoken . , . . 



























Wdliook. . . . 













In Town 'Ward 412 pcnons r 


«My w 




The accuracy of the return has been challenged, and dou' 
on their own showing in the note relative to Tower War 
corporation officers eeem to admit that they do not knov 
are their freemen. One fact, however, has been deduced 
the return, that the ' enfranchising ' act of last sessJo 
deprived at least 1 ,108 ' freemen householders ' of thcii 




Grutchiec. Mr. Hume's bill proposes a Bimplc and kgiliinale 
node of ensuring accurate retuma for the future, by requiring; 
that the roll of citizens for each ward sliall be adjusted at each 
i)awl*rly wardmote. 

fl^e have left little epace in which to speak of the origin and 
proceedings of the wardniotes in which this constitutional course 
of action was adopted ; but a few words will suffice. It originated 
in a meeting held at Andcrlon's Hotel, on the 27th of November 
hit, to conKider what steps should be adopted to extend ' the 
nunicipal franchise to all parliamentary electors.' Under the 
JQ^cious counsel of Mr, Toulmin Smith, who pointed out the 
6«ilty of the fabric on which they proposed to take their stand, 
it wa* wisely resolved to assert their rights as free men, not 
ly invoking the aid of Hercules, but by at once themselves 
tlieir shoulders to the wheel. At various regular ward- 
held in the succeeding month, Mr. Toulmin Smith, by a 
. of clear and convincing expositions of the constitutional 
tnd facts, called forth a free discussion of the question, and 

._iratory resolutions, on which the bill was subsequently 
Donded, were unanimously passed. It was at the same time 
tnolvcd, that in order to understand and effectually to discharge 
ibmt duties as taembers of the corporation, the occupiers within 
tiw ward ahoold meet in wardmote at least once in every month. 
This, however, has been defeated bv Mr. Alderman Puke, who, 
ilu.ugli ho m;Klo no olijfciion nl tho tin).' llic resolution wns 
passed, has, nevertheless, f;iilcd Id carry it out by smnmoninj; 
irardmotes for the 10th day of each month ; a course which we 
ipprcbeud can neither be justified in law nor reason. The fre- 
quent and regular meetings of old were eniirely and nrressnrily 
indcijondent of any superior summoning authority ; the aklcrnian, 
or other superior officer, being simply and properly reijuifcd to 
yive notice of each regular meeting, iu order that the time and 
duly of attendance should nut bo forgotten. It is, we presiuuc, 
to prevent any Aldcrmanic dis])l(iy of irrespiiusible authority 
U.r til.' future', that a clause rrdcclariiig the ancient custom of 
quarterly wardmotes has been iiiseited in the bill. 

The proceedings of these wardmotes were in all other respects 
most graiilying. Men who had been tau<;lit to seoi-n all that 
belonged lo'atitiquity, seemed surprised to find a liberalism almost 
beyond ihcir desires in the old beaten patli of the ignored con- 
stitution. Only two objections seemed to be raised to the course of 
-elf-dependtiice and sell-exertion pointed out. One of them lias 
just been indicated. It was objectt d tlu^t these appeals to anli- 
quitv were beautiful cxceedinijlv, but ihey were laid in daik 
..ud' barbarous times. We, tlieiefore, who live in :m ai;r of en- 


lightenment and progpress, should trust to our own guidance 
follow our own path. But like the profound dialectics of Ma 
when he argued — 

' Non amo te, Sabidi ; nee possum dicere quarc. 
Hoc tantum possum dicere : non amo tc,' 

the objections were confined to generalities, and practical 
silent dissent. A kind of dog in the manger objection was 
wise raised. ^ I paid £50 for my freedom,' said a pondc 
Theban, the very oldest inhabitant of his precinct ; * 
should you go scot free V This kind of artillery, howev* 
not very hurtful, except to the luckless gunner himself, 
laugh was clearly against him. From the movement we a 
the best results. It is well calculated to teach men their g 
duties as freemen — ^it will foster kindly habits by drawing 
from the cold selfishness of mere material being, into the si 
ways of public duty ; above all, it is of vital importance t 
right advance of all measures of progress and improvemci 
showing the necessity of full and free discussion. 

The introduction of the measure into the House of Comi 
has been temporarily delayed, through some doubt whcthc 
bill comes within the class of a private or public measure, 
parliamentary authorities seem to incline to the former sup 
tion. On the other hand, Mr. Toulmin Smith has submittt 
array of precedents, supported by legal reasoning, which ap 
incontrovertible. But be the bill private or public, it ha« 
best wishes of success, not only for the well- being and 
doing of our fellow-citizens, whom we desire to see, rich 
poor, recognised as all law-worth men of London ; but fo 
example and encouragement of all throughout the land, 
would be true men and free men. 

Since these remarks were written, we observe that a so 
has been formed for maintaining and extending local self-goi 
ment in opposition to centralization. The society profess^ 
take its stand on our historical constitution, not on any i 
theories. It will be devoted to the exposition and raainten 
of our old and fundamental institutions, in contradistinction t 
stealthy legislation of individual speculations, and to that s^ 
ing cxpenmental legislation to which there is now so gr 
disposition. The means it proposes to employ are, first; 
furnishing a point of union for those against whose functio: 
local self-government, or rights of private enterprise, an] 
croachmcnt shall be attempted ; and secondly, the taking a 
steps to make the unconstitutional character of any sp 


measures known, and thus to hinder their passing ; and further, 
to make the general principles of English constitutional self- 
government well and widely understood through the press, as 
the most effective means of making their value and practical 
importance felt. 

Art. II. — Narrative of Scenes and Events in Italy ^ fr(ym 1847 to 1849, 
incLiAding the Siege of Venice, By Lieutenant-General Pepe, 
Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Expedition of Naples, and of 
the Forces of the Venetian Repuhlic. Translated from the un- 
puhlished Italian Manuscript. In Two Volumes. London : 
Colbum. 1860. 

Nothing in the history of the late struggles for liberty on the 
Continent has more deeply excited the sympathy of good and 

fenerous men throughout Europe, than the plunging back of 
taly into servitude. One of the characters in an old play 
exclaims, ' Virtue is never wounded but I suffer ;' and there is 
not a noble-minded man throughout Christendom who would 
not repeat the sentiment in the case of the Italian Peninsula. 
That early seat of Christianity and the arts must always be 
viewed with interest by all who desire the prosperity of the one 
or the other ; and at this moment we are more than ever called 
upon to commiserate its calamitous and degraded condition. 

Our readers will remember that we have more than once 
gone over those considerations which should induce the civilized 
portion of the world to extend at least its moral support to 
Italy. The appearance of General Pope's Narrative affords us 
an opportunity of making some few remarks on several points 
which we had not dwelt on before, and pai'ticularly on the pros- 
pects of Protestantism in that country. 

We trust we shall not be accused of bigotry, when we state it 
to be our belief that unadulterated Romanism is not to be 
reconciled with political freedom. Such at least is the conviction 
of many Italian patriots, as well as of numbers of thinking men 
in France and England ; and during the existence of the Roman 
republic, many efforts based on this persuasion were made to 
naturalize the tenets of the Reformed Churches on the banks of 
the Tiber. Protestant Bibles were printed, and largely dis- 
tributed among the people; and it is now generally thought 
that, had the democratic form of civil polity been able to 

L 2 


maintain itself during any considerable length of time, tlic 
return of the Pope in his spiritual character would have been 
impossible. As it is, the axe has been laid to the root of the 
tree, which, at no distant day, will unquestionably fall, and 
cumber the Italian soil with its ruins. 

Other views are now beginning to be opened up into the 
internal structure of Italian society : not so much, perhaps, by 
books, as by those casual revelations made by individuals who 
cannot, or dare not, write. Sufficient, however, is known Ic^ 
convince all impartial men that the despotism of the Austrian s, 
the Pope, and the King of Naples, is borne with the utmost 
impatience from the Alps to the southern extremity of Sicily ; 
and that one vast and tremendous rising, too simultaneous and 
enthusiastic to be suppressed by external interference, will soon 
take place, and deliver the mixed descendants of the Romans 
and the Goths from pontifical and imperial slavery. 

At the same time we confess, not without pain, that the people 
even of this country have not taken an interest so deep as might 
have been expected in the troubled fortunes of Italy. We 
proceed thither, we gaze upon her as upon a syren, we confess 
ourselves to be smitten by her beauty, we revel in the softness 
and brightness of her skies, we feel all the witchery of her 
literature, we enter into the most friendly and familiar relations 
with her people, we are disgusted with the insolence of the rude 
barbarians who trample on her classic soil ; and yet, when the 
critical moment arrives, when, by a single bold act, we might 
ensure her independence, we suffer ourselves to be cheated by 
the maxims of a false prudence, and stand tamely aloof, while a 
savage and inhuman enemy perpetrates the worst of crimes 
against her children. It is with extreme regret that we couple 
the French with the Austrians, while denouncing these excesses 
of barbarism ; but we must be careful not to be betrayed by our 
zeal into the perpetration of injustice. The French people were 
certainly not accountable for the expedition against Home, 
undertaken at the instigation of the priesthood, by their weak 
and profligate government. From one end of France to the 
other, every friend of liberty denounced the undertaking, which 
was as much aimed at the republic at home as at the kindred 
government of the Eternal City. For this reason we omit to 
dwell on the painful topic ; though, as the dishonour belongs not 
to the nation, but to those few individuals who happened at the 
moment to possess the lead in public affairs, we should run no 
ri^k of wounding, by the severity of our observations, the sus- 
ceptibilities of a brave and liberal people. 

(jcneral Pepe, the author of the work before us, is one of 
those earnest and honest individuals who have been compelled. 

ty the tyranny of tUc Italian governments, to spend the greater 
iwrl of thcrir lives in exile. Without home, kindred, or friends, 
Imt auch as they arc able to make for themselves, by the exercise 
of agreeable manners or useful accomplishments, they have 
"mdered over half Europe — inspiring everywhere a respect for 
lliK Italian character, and giving birth to warm wishes for the 
^ncipation of their country. General Pepc has lived much 
in England, where he is greatly respected ; but on the breaking 
ooloftlie insurrection in Naples he happened to be in Paris, 
*here he eagerly awaited a recall to Iiis country. But Ferdinand 
i» a man of strong hatred. Forced by the pojjular parly to 
xnnt an amnesty to numbers of exiles, he still excepted General 
Pepe; and it was not until the democratic party obtained an 
OTerii'helining, though temporary, influence, that he consented to 
include bis name in the list of those who were to be pennittcd to 
ttfisit their homes. 
The policy of this cruel and vindictive despot has been seldom 

fifiwu yL'HTs, mow iJKm four ihousnud mvn, mvmhvrs of [Ijl- 
secret society of Carbonari, languished in dungeons, dispersid 
over the kingdom of the Two Kicilies. As fur as regarded all 
intercourse nilh the external world, they were already dead. 
^'cvc^ permitti.d to see theii' wives or children, or parents or 
(fiends, or even to communicate with them by letter, tliey 
"■ere really blotted out from the niup of active existences ; and 
would probablv have been extinguished in prL>i)u, but thai llicy 
ivould then have escaped fioni tJie power of their ti>rmeiitors. 
An Enali.-h gentleman, sailing tbiou-li the l.ii).tii l^laiuls lilt 
himself oppressed bv nieluidiolv, as he mooie.l his slvifl' under 
the castle of the Htile capital, 'wheie, as he was informid, a 
niiiuhcr of these unfortunates wasted away their lives in hopeless 
t/iptivity. Their dungeons «ere below the level of llie sea ; and 
die sound of tho^e waves, which appeared so cheerful and in- 
spiriting to him, tolled in their cars like the perpetual knell of 
ikath. ' 

The author of these volumes does not spare the King of 
Vaplc-s. though he is far from doing justice to the ntroeitv of his 
tharacter. lie proves, however, beyond dispute, what " fis all 
along suspected throughout Europe", that while he ostensihly 
sent an army to co-operate with the forces on the I'o lor tlie 
lil>erali'in of Italy, he issued secret orders in contradiction of 
those he had given in public. Thus keeping the word ot pro- 
mise to the ear, but breaking it to the ho])e. As this 1-, perlia|>s. 
the most curious passage in the work, wo will lay it belore nor 
readers, merely premising that the chain of cireumslaniv,-. i>l 
which it forms a part, must he sup[Kised I" he known ti> lino. 


General Pepe, at the head of a powerful body of troops, was 
on his march to join Durando beyond the Po. Full of hope that, 
after his twenty- seven years of exile, he should be able at length 
to perform important services for Italy, he pushed vigorously 
forward, and had already arrived at Bologna, when he was un- 
expectedly arrested on lus march in the following manner : — 

* ^Vhile I was dying,' he says, ' with impatience to cross the Po, 
and fancied that I held the lioerty of the Peninsula in my hand, au 
incident as unexpected as it was fatal took place. 

'When I awoke, on the morning of the 22nd May, Lieutcnant- 
Gcncral Statella and Brigadier Scala were introduced, the latter 
arriving from Naples, with a letter and information of great import- 
ance. A copy of this letter, which announced the new and terrible 
misfortunes of all Italy, here follows : — 

' " Excellency, • '• Naples, May 18th. 

' '^ The serious disturbances which took place in the capital on 
the 15th instant, as well as in some of the provinces, and which are 
threatened in others, impose on the government the duty of recalling, 
as soon as possible, the troops which are on their march for Up|>er 

' *' In consequence of this, your Excellency will make arrangements, 
that part of the infantry may embark at Riniini, to be disembarked at 
Manfrcdonia, while the remaining divisions, including the cavalry, artil- 
lery, and ambulance, shall fall back on Ancona, from whence the 
ar tiller Y and cavalry shall, in the first place, be ordered to proceed, and 
when they are nearly arrived in the kingdom, the remaining divisions of 
infantry shall be embarked and landed at Pescara. This being exe- 
cuted, the squadron shall proceed to Naples. 

' '* These movements must be varied and combined according to cir- 
cumstances and the position of the troops and the country. 

* '' For the 10th of the line, which is now at Gorto, near Casalmag- 
giore, your Excellency will direct that it may, by the Modena road, 
join on to the troops in the Bolognese territory, and follow the same 

' *' The Neapolitan volunteers may, if they desire it, continue their 
march, and join Durando's troops. 

' " Your Excellency will be pleased, without retarding the movement 
of the troops, to communicate the present orders at the head quartern 
of H. M. C. Charles Albert. 

* " In fine, I am to add, in the name of the royal Government, that if 
y«»ur Excellency docs not think proper to take the command of the 
troops in their retreat, in should be assumed by Lieutenant-General 

* " The Minister-Secretary of State for War and Marine, 

' '' Prince of Ischdetta.'* " 

•- Vol. i. p. 167. 

The >latc of mind produced m llu f^tuci.J by this oidii, it 


would be difficult to conceive. His 6r8t and most natural reso- 
lution was to disobey the king's orders : — 

'The two generals,' he says, 'could not conceal their joy on the 
(Keipt erf tliia letter. I (old ihem to return to me at mid-doy. I sent 
to bej Count Pepolo to como to me quickly; he is a Bolognese, but hud 
DCCD abmnt from that city sixteen years ; I told him that I commanded 
''™p8, who, in consequence of my seven years of exile, now saw me for 
It first time; and that the soldiers, superior officers, (renerals, all were 
iiflfotccl U> the king — that notwithstanding I should have at(«mpt£d 
to oppose the royal orders if the population of Bologna had supported 
»« in arms — and, above all, the National Guard, Pepole, and other 
J^»rils, told me not to count entirely on the population against regu- 
nps, who might arrest and conduct me out of the town. Itather 
expose, not only myself, but the Bolognese, to a fratricidal war, 
to a political scandal, which would have rejoiced the Austrians 
id measure, I dedded on offering myself to Charles Albert as a 
nnple Tolunleer on his staff, and, with a heart oppressed with anguish, 
"i1e BitfferioK?" more acute than if my last moment of life had arrived, 
Ip^c r,;ou(rnnn(.G(.'Tioral St^iIelJa nrtln.TS lo t.ikc llie rnmniaii,! i^f Ihe 
brigade, and follow the dircclion." of the Government. Without Itising 
s moment, Statella expedited eouriera in every diretlion to the chiefs 
of the different corps, to conxmeucc the retrograde march ; and, think, 
ing to be agreeable to me, Ihey ,iuid, that as 1 propoBcd to go on, they 
offered to give orders to the paymaster to give me whatever sum I 
might require. 1 smiled at such an offer, and thanked them. 

■ In the mean time, the news of the orders from Naples spread along 
the rtalian shore, and it was said thiit luv life was in great peril. Wlicn 
a multitude of officers came runnin],- to dikm] mc. 1 iiskcd them if they 
"ould al^o have assisted mc in iircvcnting the troops from rcliiriiiiig, 
nliich not only diminished the niimhcr.s of the defenders of Itiily, but 
-tut fresh aid lo despotism in Naples iigainst tlic Liberals, who lia<l 
liscn in fiivour of Neapolitan liberty. 

■The brave amonj; the Natioiud Guards put their hands on their 
swords saving,', •' This is fur you. Italian General ! " And I, ^raspiaj- 
my OHUMvord, added, -This is for Italy as Ion- as I live.'"— //.-. p. 171. 

Into the events which followed it is unnecessary to enter ; 
but if the reader desire lo understand the chain oi"eiicninsl;inccs 
which brought about thu seeond prosliation of Italy, he sh„uUl 
so carelVillv tliroii-h L'.<mr.\] I'epeV two volume.. Tluy n.c 
iuli of Jiistruetioti, and wrillui iu a spii-iud manner, whlcli la, p« 
awake tlic reader";; curiosity. 'I'he time, we suppose, however, 
i* not yet come for entering into full details respecting the 
movements which preceded iIk: opi n outbreak in Lombardv. 
N( ither can it be said that the -^eal of historic truth has yet been 
pu! ii|ion all the details nf Au:jtrian cruelty and opi>ression. 

I. lully . ■ ■.■.-.■ 



lid e 

ids Ilia 


rule of Austria beyond the Alps has been stained with infamy 
and blood. But even the enormities of despotism may be ex- 
aggerated, and, therefore, we experience some reluctance to 
accept, literally, all the particulars related by General Pepe, or 
those who have aided him in compiling the present volumes, 
especially as they do not, in such cases, speak on their personal 
knowledge, but depend upon the reports supplied them by others. 
Still, very much of what seems at first incredible, might proba- 
bly be substantiated by good evidence. We have heard stories 
related by two ladies who happened to be in Milan on the return 
of the Austrian army, which certainly would do no discredit to 
a horde of cannibals. What is said to have happened at Brescia 
is exactly in keeping with these details, and supposing they 
should be overdrawn, enough will still remain to prompt the 
people of Italy, when the day of retribution arrives, to inflict 
signal vengeance on their oppressors. 

It is very far from our wish to apologize for any excesses into 
which the Italians may themselves nave fallen. In most popular 
outbreaks, the masses are intoxicated "with passion before they 
take up arms. Nothing short of temporary madness could ever 
induce a populace undisciplined and imperfectly armed, to 
hazard a protracted and sanguinary conflict with regular troops. 
Yet, in most parts of Europe, the humbler classes, trusting 
entirely to their enthusiasm, and unconquerable consciousness 
of right, boldly opposed the finest troops in the world, and in 
many cases overcame them. Indeed, when a people is resolved 
to recover its liberty, it is impossible by any exertion of material 
force to keep it in subjection. 

We would illustrate this position by referring to what took 
place at Brescia, the details of which are with tolerable complete- 
ness given in the volumes of General Pepe. Our limits will not 
permit us to go at length into the subject, but we shall extract 
a few passages, which, while they show by what spirit the Italians 
were in this case animated, will likewise afl!brd some idea of the 
fearful obstacles and difficulties with which they had to contend. 

After the treachery of Carlo Alberto, of which General Pepe 
offers an explanation, the Brescians were far from abandoning 
all hope in the fortune of Italy. They determined to make onr 
last effort to resist the power of Austna, and though the fortress 
of their city was in the hands of the enemy, and a formidable 
army approaching from without, erected the standard of revolt. 

* On the 14th of March, the news reached Brescia that the amnesticc 
between Austria and Piedmont was broken. On the 20th, that hosti- 
lilies were cominenccd. and 100,000 Italian Holdicrs ready to take the 
tiokl. On the 19th the struggle )|ud already Ik'^uu. Mountain bands. 
guided hy the valiunt (*aralo di iSerlr, ramr and stationed themselves 


IM 1^ ttabarban hills, luitl from thence attacked the trains and dcfenci-'s 
nf tile Austrian arm]'. Oo the 20th, the people asEembled in crowds. 
■Icmtndinif that the advocate Salcri, an excellent citizen, should be 
prtKUimcd (as he afterwards was) chief of the municipality, instead of 
^mbclle, who was leagued with the Austrians. On the same day, a 
ijiantity nf flour was sent into the city by the inaurreetionary com- 
tniltee, with instructions from General Chernowski, with a plan of the 
LoTDbtrd insurrection, and with directions to commence the movement 
<iaih«2lEt of March. The city of Brescia was the most suitable centre 
for the Lombard insurrection, and the inhabitants held themselves pre- 
pared.'— Vol. ii. p. 70. 

One of tbose examples of insolent oppression, by which the 
Anatrian rule in Italy has been rendered infamous, now inflamed 
tni! tninds of the Brescians, and urged them into insurrection. 
Among the Germans, there is no passion so strong as the love of 
money, (o obtain which they will hazard their political supre- 
niacy, or submit to any form of despotism. They now demanded 
Irotn ihe citizens of this unhappy city the sum of 130,000 lire, 
■hich was to be regarded not so much in the light of a war con- 
tribution, as of a premeditated insult. 

'The populace assembled on the Piazza, and hearing of this demand, 
hpa to esclftim, that lead, and not gold, should be sent to their 
(■{fmrtra. Thia Commenced the popular movement. Sevenl cart 
wids orprffrisions and wood, which were stationed at the castle, werd 

'^:;^J : ihc solilicra and gemlarmes wf re piil tfi flight : every Austrian 
lOiigD was torn douii. and cues of ■■ Vivn I'ltali.-i I '■ DeiUli to the b^ir- 
bariatvs !' were alone heard. AVhilo tliis tirat movement was in progress, 
the commandant of the Piazza, and the chief of the commissariat 
reached the municipality, to take the sum demanded; but the people 
arrived, and invading the municipal saloon, made them both prisoners. 
They were with difficulty saved from the popular fury. 

' The commandant of the Piazza, now in the hands of the pcoiilo, was 
compelled to give his soldiers orders to surrender their guns to the 
N'ational Guard. Some only obeyed ; but at this moment advieo 
arrived that a large supply of ammunition and arms was on the road 
fmm Isco, and the colimin of emigrants was moving towards 
liersamo; in line, it was said that the war begun, and that the 
I'icdmontese divisions liad entered Lombardy via Alagcnt.i. Inllamed 
Ly these hopes, the people unanimously cried " To arms." 

■ The ca'^tlc of Brescia, recently restored, and put in a slate of 
defincc by Radclzki, was armed with fourteen large guns, and con- 
tained about nine hundred men, under the command of Captain I.eshka. 
'ihe Germans required prompt submission; but the people were not 
subdued. In the middle of the night, Lcshkc began to bombard the 
city. In the midst of tliis licry tempest, the people boldly t" 
irms; some cxtingiiislicd the tires, seme cleared the streets. The 
■-.omen and cliildren repaired to the belfries and rang a peal. .Mrc.ndy 
li,in<h of deserters eame down to clear the streets ami erect barricades. 



* TbiB nocturnal battle was almost like a fcstiTal long desired and 
promised ; so great was tbe popular fury, and faitb in tbcir country's 
deliverance. On tbe following day, tbe 24tb, Lesbka found means to 
send some gendarmes out of tbe castle, two of wbom went to Mantua 
to demand succour. In tbe meantime, tbe Brescians, wbbing to 
increase and fortify tbe insurrection, cbose for tbeir cbiefs tbe citizens 
Contratto and Cassola, men of rare devotion to tbe Italian cause. Tbesc 
made tbe best possible arrangements botb for tbe defence and tbe 
attack. Tbe 150,000 lire, wbicb tbe city bad collected to satisfy 
Haynau's extortion, were devoted to sustain tbe contest. 

* Tbis day was passed between fear and bope, in anxious expectation 
of tbe succours from Ticino. Tbe Imperialists were also impatiently 
waiting for news from tbe camp ; and on tbat day intelligence of tbe 
events of Mantua and of tbe first fligbt of tbe Piedmontese reacbed 
tbe city.'— i*. p. 73. 

Though it thus appeared that Fortune was once more turning 
her back upon Italy, the people of Brescia determined, let what 
would happen, to show their countrymen what a small but 
resolute band of Italians could perform and endure. They were 
not ignorant of the force or disposition of Austria, and foresaw 
distinctly to what a state of misery and humiliation they would 
be reduced by defeat. But their blood was up, and with a 
simplicity of courage, which reminds us of the early days of the 
Roman republic, they seemed to coyet death in the cause of 
their country. 

*A little before mid-day tbe Austrians opened tbeir fire. Tbcy 
were most numerous on tbe left of tbe Brescians, whose courage in 
tbis first encounter was almost miraculous. Tbeir numbers were few, 
and tbey were unused to arms ; but tbey repulsed tbe Croats, and 
would have pursued tbem with the bayonet, if Speri, a brave and in- 
telligent youth, who commanded tbis handful of heroes, bad not 
stopped them. Tbe Italians both fight and die gaily. An Austrian 
falls first, striking a man named Ribaldo on tbe breast. He ex- 
pired, exclaiming, *' Happy tbat I am ! I have tbe honour of dying 
first on tbe field of battle !*' and be recommended tlie captain not to 
forget to enter bis name first. 'And mine second," said another, 
struck by a ball in tbe stomach. Tbe third refused tbe assistance of 
bis comrades, saying, '* My loss is enough, without making a fourth 
leave his post !** The Brescinn Itifies disdained to fight from behind 
trees or hedges, saying, tbat tbis was not the Brcscian mode of combat. 
Tbe bravery of these men, scarcely more than a hundred in number, 
was prodigious. Tbey stood firm for three hours against Nngent^a 
battalions. Tbe committee of defence ordered them to retire in good 
order, still keeping the enemy in check.* — lb. p. 74. 

When the city fell ultimatily into the hands of the enemy, 
cruelties the mobt revolting are said to have been (KTpetrated. 
Many of the revelations made by history inspiic ub with bhanu* 


and humilialioii for the barbarism and brutality of our Epccies. 

I'liu imagioatioii can scarcely conceive aoytliing more demoniacal 

iW the atrocities commonly committed on the sackine of a city. 

'flic reader afterwards in cold blood takes ebcltcr m his own 

incrtxlulily, and refuses to put faith in the narratives laid before 

kirn. It would be ii relief to suppose mnny of them false. 

Hut testimonies which we cannot deny to be authentic, compel 

i«, whether willingly or unwillingly, to admit that men in 

ci;rtain states of excitement are capable of any wickedness con- 

ceirable by tlie mind. Nothing can be more hideous than the 

«(*sscs committed by governments in the suppression of popular 

tumults, or in the punishment of what is called treason. The 

■nventions of Dante's ' Hell ' are often outdone by what takes 

plwc on earth; and if reliance can be placed in the following 

paragraph, which General Pepe believes to be strictly true, it 

■DOtt, we think, be admitted that some of the most frightful 

petniw in the ' Inferno ' are tame in comparison : — 

'Tlit- .sight of Ihu horrible docds conimilU^l hy Hr. ImjicrirJisls, 

[ wlelhcr in dninkonness or by command, or in consequence of tlicir 

stupidly ferocious natures, was such as to overwhelm the mind and 

freeze the blood in men's veins — they were beyond the limits of 

imagination or belief. Not only were they ferocious towards womeu, 

children, and the sick, but the tortures they inflicted were refined in 

such a manner as to show how much the cruelty of man cxeceds that 

of the most ferocious animals. Limbs torn from their victims were flung 

from the windows and the barricndcs as food for the dogs. The heads of 

vyung children, cut from their bodies, women's arms, and fragments of 

human flesh, were thrown into the midst of the Brescinn troops, to 

whom bombs then seemed merciful. Above all, the Imperial cannibals 

dtlightcd in the horrible convulsions of those whom tliey burnt to 

dtath. Therefore tliey covered the prisoners with pitch, then set 

ihem on (ire, and often compelled the women to assist at their 

husband's murt3'rdom. Sometimes, to make p^me of the nobie blood 

iif the IJrcscians, which boiled with magnanimous wrath, they tightly 

bound the men, and then, before their eyes, they dishonoured and cut 

the throats of their wives and children; and sometimes (God forgive 

an if \vc remember such a horrid fact) they forced them to swallow the 

mangled entraiU of their iieaie^t fiicnds. Many died of anguish, and 

mjny fell fainting with horror.' — I/r. p. 90. 

\Vc nest turn to Venice, the part played by wiiieli in ihc 
iate revolt was, perhaps, the most remaikablr in the whole 
tragedy. In Brescia, the horrors and the bloodshed were more 
concentrated, and the crimes more terrific. Uut Venice, from 
its poiition more perhaps than from any other cause, held out 
longer against the common eneniv, and excited a more (Mraor- 
dinary serie:s of fea.>. and hope.-; her lliig prumiMUg o.ic da) 1.. 
be tiiumphanl. while in the iu'\t, peihap.s, il (lapped and lliit- 


tered in the dust. General Pepe had entered and obtained 
employment in this capital of the Lagoons ; but whether the 
fault rested with himself, or was common to him with the leaders 
of the government, we discover with pain that there existed 
considerable dissatisfaction among them. Pepe had his old, and, 
perhaps, obsolete notions of strategy and tactics, and the Venetian 
leaders, who, with less of military skill, possessed a larger share 
of the revolutionary impetuosity, were swayed by the convictions 
of the new school, which lays more stress on enthusiasm than on 

From the beginning, however, it was evident to all Europe, 
that Venice, unless it received assistance from without, or was 
favoured bv the bursting forth of insurrections in the empire, 
which would compel Austria to recall her armies, must inevi- 
tably fall at last. Excepting position, she possessed none of the 
qualifications for a long struggle ; her population was unused to 
arms, and wanted all experience in revolutions. Even political 
instruction was possessed by few ; and fewer still had that know- 
ledge which enables men of rare genius to difiuse their hopes 
and audacity among thousands. But looking rather to the future 
than to the present, we must regard it as an advantage, that 
Venice withstood the attacks of Austria so long as it did, because, 
when Italy comes hereafter to make her final straggle for liberty, 
the proper system of operations may be suggested by the policy 
of the Venetians. In the tactics of insurrection, it ought to bo 
a rule, especially in Italy, to kindle as many fires as possible at 
once, that the enemy may be distracted, and divide its forces, and 
find it impracticable to bring large bodies to bear at once upon 
any particular point. 

The Venetian provisional government, deceived, perhaps, by 
the expression of popular feeling and sympathy in the press, 
looked for aid from Great Britain and France, which, by the old 
traditional policy of Europe, were prevented from affording it. 
When nations rise for their independence, they must never 
lose sight of this sacred maxim : — 

*' In native swords and native ranks. 
The only hope of freedom dwells.* 

It is a foolish belief that the Italians are incapable of fighting ; 
what they want is not the instinct of pugnacity, but that courage 
which is based on knowledge and discipline, and the habit of 
victory. It requires some time to convince them that, hand to 
hand, they are able to beat the Germans in the field, a discovery 
which the brave people of Brescia would seem to have made with 
incredulous rapture. The popular opinion, that the flames of 
Southern nations melt away like snow before the fiery valour of 


the North, requires lo be extirpated from the Italiau mind ere 
the Peninaula can be emancipated. 

It would greatly facilitate the process to remember, that in all 
her late struggles, Austria has depended not on the native swords 
of Germany, but on barbarians from the frontier provinces, 
Croats or Sclavonians, or on the eleemosynary aid of Kussia. 
Against Venice, she put in practice the base or ridiculous tactics 
of Mettemich — moral corruption and balloons, which are thus 
described by General Pepe i — 

•They sent a lady belonging to a noble family of Lombardy lo 
Venice, with the osteasible charge of persuading the members of the 
gOTemroent, that the impossibility in which they were placed, of con. 
tinning a lon^ resistance, was such, that a speedy surrender would be 
aost adrisable. But the lady had also a secret comnuHsion, which was 
lo eorrapt as many of the officers as passible, and to bring them over to 
feTOOT the Austrisns. The committee of public safety did not lose 
^iifht of this kdv. so that she was unable to communicate with any 
-It-. Tlicj took 'from Iilt ;, IctlLT ,>f rtcoinnn:nd;itiun sh.; had received 
for a young man in Venice, to whom she was not known, and presented 
her to another, chosen by the committee itself, makinfj her believe that 
be was the person to whom the letter was directed. This young man 
played his part so well, that he removed all suspicion from the lady's 
mind. She ended by being really enamoured. All her secrets were 
lold and reported to the commission ; the lady was sent to prison, and, 
1 believe, she remained there till the enemy entered Venice. To this 
ihe AuBtrians added another attempt, no less silly, which diverted the 
Vcnelians and all Ilaly — I allude lo their balloons, and other aerostatic 
devices. After talking of these for two or three months, and after 
numerous experiments made in the Austrian camp, near the Adriatic, 
and in that of Ison/xi, they at last carried thorn into execution. They 
sent up some fire-balloons from their war-vessels, stationed in the 
Adriatic, and opposite the island of Lido. These went high enough to 
pa.'s over that island, and the enemy llattcred themselves that they 
would arrive and hurst in the city of Venice, but not one ever reached 
so far, Under these balloons a large grenade full of combusliblc 
matter, and fastened by a sort of cord, also filled with composition, 
which, after a certain given time. w;is to consume itself. As soon as 
this happened, the (,'rcnadc fell, and in its fall, burst against the first 
ob-tacle which it struck. Of all these balloons that were sent up, one 
only left its prcnade in the fort of St. .\ndrea del Lido. The others were 
all extinguished in the w;itcrs of the Lai;oou, and sometimes sufliciently 
near the capital to amuse the population more than any other spec- 
tacle.-— 74, p, U.i. 

From these extracts it will be seen that the narrative of 
General Pepe is full of interest, and that it abounds with details 
absolutely neccss.ary for comprehending the hite movements in 
Italy. The author's sentiments arc manly and noble through- 


out; he has all a patriot^s desires for the liberation of his country, 
and would, no doubt, willingly sacrifice what remains to him of 
life to ensure its liberty. Such works cannot fail to do good, 
as they tend, at the same time, to nourish generous feelings, and 
to diffuse the knowledge of what gallant things the people of 
Italy have performed in the attempt to shake off the yoke of the 
barbarians. That their beautiful country should still remain 
subject, in a great measure, to Austria, is a reproach to all Chris- 
tendom. But she has no longer anything to expect from with- 
out. Her liberation must be ncr own work, and we trust that 
even now the sword is sharpening which is to accomplish her 

Art. III.— 1. On the Rdigwui Ideas, By W. J. Fox, M.P. 8vo. 
London : Fox. 

2. The Westminster and Foreign Review, April 1850, Art IX. The 
Church of England, 

We have placed together the titles of Mr. Fox's volume, and of 
an article in the 'Westminster,' as presenting similar views, in 
some respects, of Christianity, as taught, not by the Church 
of England only, but by the numerous bodies in this country 
that abide by the ancient Catholic faith of Christendom. Both 
in the lectures of Mr. Fox, and in the br^ant paper of the 
' Westminster,' that faith appears to us to be misrepresented and 
repudiated ; and we should ill discharge our duty to our own 
convictions, and to the great principles which we hold to be of 
paramount evidence, as well as authority and moment^ if wc did 
not avail ourselves of the appearance of these publications to 
record our judgment of their contents, of their tendency, and of 
the treatment which they deserve at our hands. 

The lectures of Mr. Fox are fifteen in number : — I. The Be- 
ligious Ideas — ^their Universality ; II. Their Objective Beali^ ; 
III. Revelation; IV. God; V. Divine Attributes ; VI. Creation 
and Providence ; VII. Redemption ; VIII. Human Immortality ; 
IX. The Moral Sense ; X. Heaven ; XI. The Religion of 
Humanity; XII. Christianity; XIII. Political Establiahment ; 
XIV. Education ; XV. Practical Influences. 

In the first lecture, Mr. Fox represents a few simple ideoM — 
such as revelation, God, pro^ddence, the sense of right and wrong, 
duty, redemption, heaven — as the primeval elements of rcUgion ; 
and these idetu he treats as common to Judaism, Christianity, the 


mylhologios of the Goths and of the Greeks, the nmltitadinous 
idolatry of tlic Hindoo, the stern monotheism of the Mohara- 
mcdaa, and the gigantic superstitions of ancient Egypt. These 
ideas he regards, not as strictly innate, but as tendencies to 
modes of thought which arc universal, and which have been 
modified in a thousand difierent ways by priests, kings, prophets, 
or reformers, in all ages ; while these modifications have been 
farther infiuenced by differences of race, government, climate, 
literature, and discoveries in science. Witi this comprehensive 
view of 'the religiom ideas' the lecturer speaks with equal 
approbation of the Veda of India, the Prayer of Epictetus, the 
Dialogues of Plato, and Pope's ' Universal Prayer.' He calls 
tbeee ideas — 

'The religion of humanity, more ancient than the oldest supersti- 
tions, mor« £viti* that% the ht»t aitetlad orachf, more enduring than the 
fiith which seems to be the most firmly established in the world ; — a 

rpliaion nf humnnity, which goes [leepcr thiio all, bprausc it helonps to 
llie essentials of our moral and intclleclual constitution, and not to 
mere external accidents, the proof of which is not in historical argu- 
ment, or metaphysical deduction, but in our own conscience and con- 
sciousness ; — a religion of humanity, which unites and blends all other 
religions, and makes one the men whose hearts are sincere, and whose 
charaetcrs are true, and good, and harmonious, whatever may be the 
deductions of their minds, or their external profession ; — a religion of 
humanity, which cannot perish in the overthrow of altars or the fall of 
temples, which saivivcs them all, and which, were every defined form 
of religion obliterated from the face of the world, would rc-crcate 
religion, as the spring re-creates the fruits and iiowcrs of the soil, 
bidding it bloom again in beauty, bear again its rich fruits of utility, 
and fashion for itself such forms and modi^s of expression as may best 
agree with the progressive condition of mankind.' — Pp, 12, 13. 

Amid the changes which have lately been rife in the world, 
the lecturer sees no safety but in holding fast by the great and 
enduring principles of our moral being. 

In the second lecture, all religions are traced to the same 
materials, and arc represented iis containing the proofs that 
religion itself is not a form, a dream, a fraud, a chance, or a 
superstition, — but a reality. The historical forms which religion 
has assumed are treated as very unimportant to its essence. It 
is here, ' by the ordination of that omnipotent nature, from 
which all result.' As all our faculties arc objective, so both 
human nature and religion arc correlates, belonging to the same 
system of causation. The ideas of God, and of a future state, 
and the dictates of the moral sense, arc regarded as more poirei-ful 
than the Bible or miracles, because of their affinity with human 
nature and with human hnowledsic. 


The third lecture disposes of the question of Revelation, by 
comparing the claims of different religions to this kind of autho- 
rity. Every claim is acknowledged as, in some degree, founded 
in truth. The Koran of Mohammed, we are told, * much more 
distinctly claims to be, in its entirety, a revelation, than tlie 
Bible.' The craving for revelation shows that nature is stimu- 
lating art to a constantly ascending scale of wants and gratifica- 
tions. The forms which religion has assumed are all arraigned, 
as having failed to satisfy the great want of humanity : — 

' No religion has so appealed in its entirety to the common human 
heart, as to become the religion of human nature ; and yet they have 
all had ample time for doing so, had it been in them. As to Christians, 
they have taken of late rather to split than to multiply ; to divide rather 
than to extend. They cannot convert one another, and hence there is 
little chance of them converting the Hindoos or other heathen.* — P. 40. 

As revelation of the great ideas of religion is not found, accord- 
ing to Mr. Fox, in the Holy Scriptures, he finds it every when? 
else — wherever moral or spiritual truth is, without any preter- 
natural agency, just as the theory of the universe arose in the 
mind of Newton, or as the principle of political economy to 
which Bentham devoted his life, arose in the mind of Priestley. 
What we call logic in the West is, in the East, ascribed to the 
* great source of thought ;* and as religions have generallv 
originated in the East, they bear the Oriental character. Each 
particular religion adds to the original ideas something which 
is impossible, or improbable; and one religion borrows from 
another. All exclusive claims, those of Christianity, for ex* 
ample, are denounced as arrogant and presumptuous. The 
true miracle is — Nature. The source of thought and truth is — 

The fourth lecture, on God, proceeds on the principle that 
there are few, if any, atheists. A revelation implies a rcvealcr. 
The impulse of Gibbon, to write his history, was a sort of 
occurrence which, told in Oriental phraseology, would be ' the 
word of the Lord came to such a one, and said. Go thou, and do 
this great work.' Thus, the relation in which man perceives 
himself to be to some unseen power, suggests a revealer. By a 
similar process, the various emotions of the mind ore related to 
the same invisible power. This relation is recognised in Fetish- 
ism, Polytheism, and Monotheism. The mental proceM of 
abstraction and identification is the source of all revelations. 
Moses, as a wise man, dealing with a horde of savages, appedcd 
to their traditional knowledge of the God of their nithers ; and« 
adapting his instructions to their history, spoke of that God, 
first as a Deliverer, and then as a Legislator. Tlien Mil 

gave place to Law. After this, their military experience led 
them to speak of God as ' the Lord of hosts," — ' a sort of Mars 
or Odin, the leader of armies, the God of battles, and the giver 
of rictories." In later times, of enforced eubmission, the thought 
of niercT came, iitid God was addressed as a Father. In our 
own times, this thought is impeded by creeds and conventional 
theories; but the tendency of our day is towards the recognition 
of universal humatiity, and of ' an essence, a spirit, a soul of the 
onirerse, incorporate with all, and in all :' ' we beliece in God,' 

Thejifift lecture is a condemnation of the Christian concep- 
tion of the Divine attributes, as the conception of a barbarous 
age, ftftificially presevved by national formularies, but incon- 
sistent with a state of society in which the free scope of the moral 
sense is allowed. Whatever we can conceive of perfection in 
oar best moments, is the true standard of the Divine perfections. 
It tnclades majesty — holiness — ^power — plurality, these are found 
in all religions : the Egyptian priests, with the ark of Osiris — 
Afosps, with iiis rod— Bnbvltin. with its hij^h towor — Pcr;i^,with 
ii- *uii-«ui.-liip— tlu' Diuld, wiih IiLh iny=lk iiiid.^s— |Ik> ("in.'tk, 
with his lovely forms — the Catholic, with his cathedrals and pro- 
cessions — and the Protestant, with his sterner simplicity— all — 

' are doing their ivork, in varied ways, very imperfectly, very erroneoiisly 
often, as needs must be with the imperfection of their nature ; but tlicy 
are doing (heir work, the work of humanity, (he work of divinity. 
They arc endcavourinf; to unfold, aecoidin^ to their means, their native 
■ reli;:ious ideas ; ihoy arc labouring for And 
as uninterested spectators ; but let us look on wiili 
in with hp!]> according to our ability — that we l.>o 
' ■■ portion in ihe blessed 


ns of t! 

et us no 

look or 

lope, let 

us look 

may have 

our sh 

I of eternal truth and happin 

-Pp. 90, <li. 

The sii:/h lecture, on Creation and Providence, treats the 
Christian mode of viewing these subjects as fruught vviili llic 
absurdity of ignorant ages — substituting poetry for seitiice, 
creation for the development of law, God for nature, and the 
interventions of Jehovah for the ' one pervading life, soul, spirir, 
and tendency ' — ' the great development towards which all t 

tend, of the infinite ii 

the finite, of God in huniuni 

nature.' True piety is 

'a harmony with llie spirit and 


The scren/h lecture. 

on Kedemption, treats of the sa 

which abounded in the 

ancient world, and the historic 

mythological Rt.deemcr 

of antiquity, as embodying the pi 

of redemption by endu 

ranee, by devotion, and by the 

influence which attends 

upon Kclf-sarrlfier. Tliis priiie 


life of 

opposed to the inanufactiired di)c 


speculations and theories of the epistles of the New Testament 
writers ;' and it is declared to be embodied in the history of 
Jesus. The ^ natural doctrine of redemption by sacrifice ' — 
illustrated by the examples of Cato, Kosciusko, Clarkson, and 
Howard — is said to fill the minds of the good, ' as the Spirit of 
God i^ossesses every atom of universal being :' — 

' Thus the Redeemer has glory in the redemption for which he sinks 
every other thought ; in his life we trace a pure emanation of Divinity, 
and wc feel that death restores or raises him to a more perfect iden- 
tification with that Divinity.* — P. 124. 

The eighth lecture, on Human Immortality, draws from every 
philoso2)hic theory of human nature the acknowledgment of a 
peculiarity, and a superiority, in the human constitutioD ; and 
deduces from that nature the conclusion of its immortality. 
Even admitting exceptional cases of ignorant or isolated human 
beings, the lecturer contends, from the whole analogy of natural 
history, that there is no presumption against the mture life of 
man. He regards the idea of the life to come as being pre- 
eminently religious; and, through all the conceptions of the 
nature of that life to come, which have been framed by poets, 
philosophers, or barbarians — * the shadows of earth cast upon 
the clouds ' — ^he sees the proof that man is intent upon a future 
state of existence. The grounds upon which this faith has 
rested are not in the arguments, but in the natural tendencies of 
the believers. 

* There/ he says, * let it stand, bound within the covers of no sacred 
book — independent of tradition and Icj^end — not resting upon the ques- 
tionable testimony of historical evidence — unlinked from any association 
with preternatural wonders — needing the confirmation of no Church or 
priesthood — neither affirming nor denying any divine mission — but 
resting and remaining?, like the enduring ])yraniids, or, rather, like 
some mountain heaved up by Nature herself, to tower aloft and hold 
communion with the skies, those skies which arc a type of Divinity. 
" Love to (iod and love to man" was the summar)* of the stone-tablet 
of natural and Christian duty. There is a summary of the religion of 
Nature inscribed on the fleshly tables of the heart, and that summary 
is, ** The perfection of Divinit)* — the immortidity of humanity." '— 
Pp. 139, MO. 

In the ninth lecture, which is on the Moral Sense, the utilita- 
rian theory of virtue is abandoned for the general sense of right 
and wrong which pervades human nature, and in which ' God 
speaks by the feelings of his rational creatures.' This sense 
may have been distorted by superstition, and 'Churchism* has 
' made siid havoc with it.* Still, the source from which these 
perversions flowed was pure : and beneath whatever may 


deformctl or otFensivc, ' is bloasoming that flower of Initli nnd 
loveliness which is native to the human heart — which renews 
its being, maintainB its beauty, and ever sheds abroad its blessed 

Hb*vkw, in the tenth lecture, is a brief term for man's reli- 
ffiout idea of the Chief Good — purity, blessedness, commonion 
with God — variously rcprest^nted aecording to men's modes of 
thought, or habits of life. Of that heaven, it is maintained, thnt 
Qono havq ' given us more authentic information than that whicli 
we derive from the human mind and heart.' The discoveries 
made lo the world by Jesua and Ids apostles are treated aa mere 
fiction*, revealing nothing but imaginations, contradicted by 
advancing science. The assumption of particular knowledge of 
falurity has been ' as the golden sceptre and the thunderbolt in 
the bands of the priesthood.' These powers have a foundation 
in troth. The aspirations of the intellect, the aficctions, the 
naagiaalun, betray the universal conviction of mankind — that 
till- rhicf Gr>od is to be rpalizfd liuieaftcr ; nnd miUioji^ have 
clung to this conviction, as their ' homely delight and sticngth,' 
in temptation and in death. 

The religion of humanity is the theme of the dercntJi lec- 
ture — perhaps the most important in the series, as a general 
view of the whole system. Tiiis religion is described, with 
much eloquence, as the constitulion of human nature — t/ie 
origin and test of moral truth. 'L'ht- truths developed in thi-f 
c-m.-titHlion are t/ie onlij truths Korlhij to hr calh'l rcrclalions. 
Tliey are free from ihi' uncertainty, the amliii,'iiily, ihc obscurity, 
aicrib»;d to ' a book in n dead language.' This religion, we are 
a-i-ured, is in all pi-culiar systems of nligion, and i? their soul : 
in idolatries, in Judaism, in Chvistianily. In all these peculiar 
religions there are unjust assumptions, corruptions, and mistakes; 
Christianity, especially, has been deprived of some of its (luctriiics 
bv geology, and of others by astronomy : but the religion of 
humanity, being natural, is progressive with the advaiiceiiient of 
the species in knowledge and in virtue. 

The tirolfth lecture is designed to show that Chiistianity is 
not the one true religion — that it is the religion of a iiiiiion'ty; 
compctinij with religions more ancient, boasting uiiraeles mure 
wonderful and more numerous, and exhil.iting the sell-same 
morality and piety. Hence the alleged failure of the ('liristiau 
missions, in contrast with the spread of our arts. The Christian 
religion is the religion of the superior races of mankind ; and it 
has been constantly undergoing changes and modifications. Sim- 
pleat (irst, and isolated, it was gradually organized ; then adorned 
with pomp and external power ; then united in the Pope ; more 
fret-dom was introduced by Lutlicr ; while, within the last thrr e 


centuries, one tenet after another has been abandoned by in- 
creasing knowledge. With all these changes, the univer^al and 
enduring exist more truthfully and efficiently in Christianity 
than in any other of the specific forms of religion — in its devo- 
tions — in its grand theology — in the morality of Clirist — in its 
moral pictures — in its maxims and precepts — and, above all, in 
the character of the Son of God. The records of Christianity, 
however, are charged with discrepancies, contradictory state- 
ments, legends, myths ; and the miracles, we are told, must yield 
to the criticism which discriminates the accidental and the tem- 
porary adjuncts from the permanent and enduring principles, 
disregarding, comparatively, that which marks out precisely the 
nature of heaven^ and the conditions of salvation, and clinging to 
that which appeals only to reason, love, and hope. 

In the thirteenth lecture, the author argues against the politi- 
cal establishment of religion. As religion belongs to the same 
principles of human nature which prompt men to form commu- 
nities — as it is self renewing, the only political mode of promoting 
religion is to let it alone, and to promote the development of 
human nature. As establishments necessarily uphold some specific 
forms of religion, they hinder and oppress inward religion, 
invade the rights of man, foster persecution, casuistry, dread of 
knowledge, and they have all failed as to their professed aim. 
National expressions of religion need not be discouraged ; but 
they should vary according to the forms in which any number of 
persons in the same nation may agree. Freedom is numbertd 
among the religious ideas, though it is not confined to them. 

The fourteenth lecture, on Education, embodies the author's 
notions on one of the most exciting practical questions of the 
day. Those notions can scarcely be appreciated, if viewed ajiart 
from the principles asserted in the previous lectures. Education 
is defined to be — ' the voluntary action of mind upon mind, for 
the purpose of injiuencitig the formation of character.' Many 
other influences, beyond our control — society, literature, pa^hing 
events, the tendencies of our constitution — ever at work, * these 
in God, or God in these, constitute the power by which character 
is made.' Education is spoken of as 'a religious work,' not in 
the common acceptation, but according to the interpretation of 
religion given in this volume — the development of the religion 
of humanity. What others call secular, Mr. Fox call* religious; 
and this, he maintains, the State may promote — not by direct 
teaching, but by facilitating, enforcing, securing it, for all its sub- 
jects — by scattering the means of education over the country, 
stimulating local efibrts, making the* richer and more favoured 
localities help the poorer and more ignorant, checking the sec- 
tarian zeal of Churches and priesthoods, and taking care that 


teachers shall be well qualified, invested with dignity in the eyes 
of society, and supplied with opportunities and advantages for 
the accomplishment of their purpose. This work is to be cairied 
on in a spirit of reverence for humanity, not according to the 
views of certain creeds : it has its missions and its inspirations. 
It is the business of society to * find the educators, to place them 
in their sphere, and to give them every facility for their work.' 

The concluding lecture, entitled, * Practical Influences,' may, 
we think, be properly regarded, and is manifestly intended, as it 
seems, to challenge a comparison of the worth of natural religion 
with that of Christianity. In making this comparison, the lecturer 
strongly condemns the notion that religion is subordinate to the 
ends of civil government, or the means of building up a national 
character. He maintains that, according to the views he has 
expounded, those who are in such a stage of civilization as to 
need marvels, prophets, miracles and portents, and forms, will 
take care to have them in abundance ; but that the ruler may be 
satisfied that there should be in society those who think the 
specific form the creature of the day, the oflfspring of a particular 
kind of civilization, and deem it not important as compared with 
the great, the vital, the enduring essence of religion. 

When it is asked — whether these religious ideas are sufficient 
for the salvation of the soul, the answer is. No — according to the 
Christian estimate of salvation ; but, substituting another estimate 
of salvation, * then these simple ideas, the universal heritage of 
humanity, the testimony of man's spirit to the spirit of God that 
is in him, do save the soul, and produce the life of God in the 
soul of man.' 

If it be objected, that Mr. Fox's system is one of negations, 
he replies — that it is expansion, not negation ; that he acknow- 
ledges the inspiration of the Scriptures, as well as other books ; 
that he acknowledges revelation in the Bible, as well as in 
nature and in history ; that he acknowledges God was in Christ, 
as well as in humanity, and in things inanimate too ; and that 
there toas^ and is still, a progressive development in religion. 
He confesses that his views are not those which will fan the 
ardour of proselytism ; but, instead of this, what is common to 
all religionists, will be more prized than their characteristic 

Such is a brief, but not hasty, nor partial, outline of these 
lectures. They are couched in perspicuous and elegant lan- 
guage, and pervaded by a free, and manly, and independent 
tone : a strong vein of common sense ; and a poetical, rather 
than a logical, style both of thought and of expression. No 
reader can fail to perceive indications of the ambition of a 
reformer, and of the complacency of one who believes that he 


has demolished a good deal of popular misconception. The 
spirit of the lectures is eminently philanthropic, and breathes a 
good-humoured confidence in human nature, which is very 
attractive. We mean no censure in saying that they are super- 
ficial. There is a superficies : it is well that it should be seen. 
There are minds well fitted to see it, and to show it to others. 
With such a mind this author is endowed. Along with this 
endowment, he possesses considerable powers as a rhetorician, 
and, as those who have heard him will gladly testify, considerable 
merits as a public speaker. All these qualities have secured for 
him no small measure of popular admiration and influence. 
What he says is heard, what he writes is read, with much pre- 
possession in his favour. Having won his way, by his brilliant 
abilities and by his liberal opinions, to a place in Parliament, the 
clerical character is forgotten in the laical ; and he has the very 
great advantage of setting forth independent opinions, rather 
than the dogmas of a sect. Most cheerfully do we acknowletlge 
his right to do this. Nor have we any hesitation in saying, 
that he has done it ingenuously and gracefully. We could not 
honestly say he has brought forth any new fact, or any new 
speculation — that he has burdened himself with the load of 
much learning, or that he has entangled himself greatly with the 
difficulties of severe reasoning. He exhibits many of the excel- 
lences, and some of the faults, common to the champions 
of human progress, who oftentimes see, or think they see, 
in a few simple ideas, a succedaneum for the larger and more 
complicated investigations which profounder, and more com- 
prehensive, and more patient, inquirers have ascertained to be 
necessary for a fuller ))erception of the truth. He has woven, 
not without the skill which conceals labour, the ancient and 
many-coloured objections to Christianity, into the warp of that 
fixed dislike of the supernatural which treats all evidence to the 
contrary of its own conclusions with inconsiderate and inconsistent 
scorn — making theories, and not facts well proved , the law of its 
belief. We will not undertake to affirm that he understands his 
own position ; that he has examined tc/tat there is in Christianity 
beyond the rudiments he sees in human nature, and which 
raises it, as a theology specially inspired for a purpose clearly 
stated, entirely beyond the plane of all bpecific religious 
whatever ; that he has patiently investigated the relations of this 
divine theology to that human nature which men have wro9iged 
by the transgression of its laws ; that he has closely pondered 
the eternal principles embodied in a nature which has con- 
science for it« supreme faculty ; that he has meditated, 
with adequate seriousness, on the \v(»r kings of a human spirit 
in which a long-negleclwl consjcience assserls itb dread authority. 


ad makes the whole man feel that he needs a delivGrer beyonil 
himself, and something more potent than ideas — however natoial 
aud correct — to adjust his relation to the Holy One, whose 
goverunient he has set at nauglit j that he has weighed the 
true value of a book, or the critical, historical, analogical, and 

i>cr«onaUv experimental grounds, which miUions have had for 
lulding tliat the Book of Christians atands alone in the literature 
of the world — that, if not true, it is a miracle as really beyond 
the lawfl of mental nature, as the raising of the dead is beyond 
the Inws of matL'rial nature, and, if true in the outline of its 
most natural transactions, must be true, according to the prin- 
ciples of all historical evidence, in those extraordinary state- 
ments which arc necessary to the actual consistency of all the 
rest ; or that he has even reached the sublimest of all intellectual 
perceptions — the perception of a AViae, Powerful, Good, and 
Holy Deing, who shows, by what we call Nature, that he is 
btfiir* it and above it, its originator and its end. We have it 
not in our poner to say that the wiilor of those lectures has done 
justice to the intelligence, the philosophy, the learning, the 
philanthropy, the love of freedom, the sell- sacrifice, the piety, 
the meekness, the dignity, the spiritual power, of the men by 
whom Christianity — as It is in. ils own documnnis, and in the 
matured character of those who earnesthj, as well us inlclli- 
gently, hold it as true — has been studied profoundly, beautifully 
honoured, and bravely defended with arguments unansHercd, 
and by lives such as ' the religion of humanity ' has neither 
iclipsed, nor equalled, nor proved to be factitious. 

Wo should have been f^lnd to recognise in these lectures a 
higher rt-vcrcucc for Ilim whom (.'hii^tians, from the times of 
.lolin aud I'aul, down to this day, have adored, ;iud loved, and 
>erved ; especially after being told of ' Christian Liiitariani.-;ni,' 
that it 'has never found itself so much in sympathy with 
mankind, notwithstanding its boast, and its justified boa-^I, to 
some e.\tont, of superior rationality, as to dilfuhc itself very 
nidciy in society; nor can any system which does not bring 
Divinity nearer to us than the endeavour to conceive of an 
infinite person, and yet lo sepaiMtc that person from (he world 
of existence.' Wc should have thought that it belonged to tlie 
highest attainment of humanity to sympathize with Ilim who i< 
its perfect Exemplar, and to receive with gratitude the les-on^ 
he lias tau4,'ht un the greiit tbeiiies to which the constitu- 
tional tendencies of man are so divinely adapted, and on wliieh 
he ili^courscd as never man discoursed before nor since. V\ e 
>iiouid have thought, moreover, that llie hiirniony of bis lili- 
— l..,lh with his own relereiices, i.f the dignity of ivhich lie 
«u, >o evidently conscious, and ^vhirli >hed its p.euliiir luslre on 


this ineffable humility, and with the glowing and reverent style 
in which he is spoken of by the chosen witnesses of his resur- 
rection — would have led a mind that does sympathize with him 
to a higher appreciation of the great truths which centre round 
his name. If it be true that he has told us nothing respecting 
God or futurity, or man in his relations to God and futurity, 
beyond what had been already revealed in the constitution of 
human nature, conclusions logically follow which it would have 
been fair to enunciate, but which are not contained in these 
lectures — and why not? Is it because the lecturer is, after all, 
not sure of the premises which he has so eloquently stated ? — or, 
because he has not reasoned from them ?— or, because he knows 
that the conclusions, boldly given, would have been too fierce an 
assault on the convictions of the best-informed, as well as too 
gross an outrage on the most sacred feelings of the most devout ? 
The conclusions, nakedly and formally stated, are such as the 
following : — Jesus, who called himself the Son of God, who said 
that he had come forth from the bosom of the Father, to give his 
life a ransom for the many, to prepare a place for his followers 
in his Father's house, and, finally, to judge the world, was either 
a vile pretender or a weak enthusiast ; or he has been grossly 
misrepresented in the only writings which tell us what he said 
and did. That such conclusions harmonize with the contents of 
those writings, and with the eficct which they have produced on 
the world, and with many facts acknowledged in these lectures, 
it is not our business to determine ; but it %$ passing strange, 
that the system founded on the facts and principles of these 
writings should have preserved the enduring and universal in 
religion * more truthfully and efficiently than any other religion ! ' 
Yet such is declared, in these lectures (p. 186), to be * the result 
of a complete and fair examination.' 

In many of the statements of these lectures we have to express 
a modified concurrence. We have no doubt, that the capacities 
of human nature are as they are here represented, or that the 
religion of mankind is conversant with ideas respecting God, 
revelation, providence, duty, redemption, heaven. But, as these 
ideas, not being innate, are the result of teaching, and, as in all 
religions, excepting that which is taught in the Bible, there is 
erroneous teaching on all the great theories to which these ideas 
reflate, we are indebted to the Bible, directly or indirectly, for 
our knowledge of those truths rt^|)ccting God, and r€>demption, 
and heaven, which Mr. Fox attributes solely to human nature. 
All tlie sciences are conver^nt with things respecting which 
men have ideas, but knowledge displaces vague or false ideas by 
such as are definite and true ; in like manner, the instructioDs of 
prophets, apostles, and evangelists, discovering to m the IkcU 


and the general truths which constitute the gospel, correct the 
criors into which men are continually falling, on matters which 
concern their highest well-being, impart the knowledge of God, 
of a Redeemer, of eternal blessedness, show us how to live and 
how to die so as to be right and happy, and guide the best 
facolties and instincts of our nature to their proper objects. 
Men may depreciate the labours of discoverers and inventors, 
saying that they can do no more than modify our natuial 
ideas of the material universe, by methods quite as rational 
as those by which Mr. Fox attempts to depreciate the reve- 
lations of JDivine wisdom in the gospel. The true question, 
however, we take to be this : Does the Sible contain dis- 
coveries respecting God and man, and their mutual rela- 
tions? We think it has been proved that it does. Such 
discoveries the sacred writers profess to give, and have given. 
This is not the place for an elaborate defence of such a position. 
Our object is not to argue on behalf of Christianity, but to 
indicate what we regard as a want of fairness in these disparage- 
ments of it Unhappily, some advocates of Divine truth have 
claimed for the Bible a completeness and an exclusiveness of 
authority to which the men who wrote it make no pretensions, 
and, in their zeal for particular doctrines, not a few able men 
have put constructions on the words of Scripture which do 
violence to their simple meaning ; but, surely, it is not wise to 
charge these mistakes, or whatever else they may be called, upon 
the book itself Here, we take the liberty of saying, in all 
candour, Mr. Fox appears to us as being more averse to Chris- 
tianity than any of the deistical writers of a former age. These 
lectures are not the composition of a Deist. The writer is simply 
a Pantheist. We are not using the term Pantheist in any 
invidious sense, but as the correct definition of the writer in 
distinction from a Deist. He belongs to a school. Without 
the power of deep philosophical thinking, or the habit of close 
and continued investigation, he presents, in an alluring dress, 
the shadowy outlines of a cloudy congeries of world-old fancies, 
which some of our worthy German neighbours have been dignify- 
ing with the name of philosophy. It is nothing more than the 
mistake of substituting ideas for things, the abstractions and 
generalizations of logic for real beings. We want a name to 
express our notions of all things collectively considered; the 
familiar words — world, universe, are not thought to answer 
the purpose so well as the to irav of the Greeks. God is either 
a portion of the to way, or the infinite and independent creator 
of the TO Tray, or the word Ood is a name for the to ttov- 
Adopting the last of these suppositions, men reject the second, 
and the word God, in their notion of it, stands not for the 
Creator and Ruler of all things, but for * all things ;' and this is 


Pantheism. From several expressions in those lectures we 
gather that this is the sense in which the word God is used. 
Some of these expressions are: — ^ Omnipotent Nature;^ * t/ie 
thought of Deity is a proof of God/ * " Queen Mab " is not 
an atheistic poem, whatever Shelley might think or profess ; it 
recognises that pervading spirit of love presiding over universal 
being which is only a phase of theism — a peculiar phase, and 
certainly not among the least lovely /' ^ the universal principle 
— pervading presence and power y ' 'an essence, a spirit, a 
soul of the universe incorporate with all, and in all /' * a God ab 
eztra,^ referred to as not believed in (pp. 86, 87) ; as also, * a 
Deity that lives without, and rules over, and thus manages, 
changes, and guides /' ' something superinduced, something inter- 
posed / ' one with the majestic frame of the heavens and the 
earth — one with the mighty movements of material nature — one 
with intellectual and moral development in humanity — who lives, 
breathes, thinks, feels, acts, in and by all that is — all that is 
being one with them, and He all and in all ;' ' the notion of law, 
universal law, in nature, when once it arises, and is clearly 
apprehended, brings what is called Creation within the same 
category as the events by which it is followed ; it sees in them 
all aevelopments, and developments only — the one infinite, uni- 
versal, and eternal, the great original, and all else modifications 
and manifestations.' 

Now, though Pantheism sounds like the opposite of Atheism, 
it is equally remote from Theism. According to the doctrine 
of these lectures, God, Providence, Creation, as understood by 
Christians and, by Deists, are denied. To deny these primary 
truths of religion, and, at the same time, to hold by certain idt*as 
or instincts of the human mind, is to deny all that renders religion 
possible, and to remove the foundations which Christianity assumes 
as laid. He who has reached this point of denial, and imagines 
that his denial is expansion of the truth, is not likely to attacli 
importance to the historical documents in which the truths 
peculiar to Christianity are embodied. To him, miracles, pr«>* 
phecies, inspiration, are modifications of natural laws, veiled 
under the ignorance or oriental extravagances of pious but ill* 
informed religionists. It ought not to surprise us that Mr. Fox 
should be fascinated with such vapoury expansions, or that the 
IK)rtion of the public with whom he is an oracle should bo fiisci* 
nated, in their turn, by the rhetoric which they mistake for 
reasoning, and the dogmatism which tlu^y admire as freedom. 
Neither he nor they have any distinct object of worship. Why 
should they pray to a God which is nothing more than an abstract 
notion of the human intellect, unless it be that whole of which 
they are themselves essential parts and varied modifications f 
AVhat to them are bin, rcpentanci*, atonement, redemption ^ 


:t), hcU ? What have they to fear in death i Why should 
tbcy fcvl rcspoDsible to one above thetosclvcs '{ What rovclaUoa, 
or Ihw, can they admit but nature t 

There arc few thoughtful persons, we presume, who are 
fitrangcrB to the occasional suggestion of the difficulties which 
Ihp lii&itation of our faculties, and of our range of observation, 
iinfKweM tin every attempt to grasp the entire circumference ol" 
imv queMion whatever in the region of Epcculation. But the 
Itiblo i» for man in his practical life, in his actual condition, in his 
(Inrp Mid universal want ; and while the mere speculator finds 
the Mtmo perplexity here as elsewhere, the man who follows 
evidence, beheves what is proved by substantial and appropriate 
tr*titnony< gives his confidence to a iieing whoi^e power and love 
arc known to him, and humbly obeys that Being in all his 
reveUiions, obtains solid peace of mind, has that within him 
which rettr&ins his passions, consoles his griefs, elevating him to a 
rmnly Itfe. a saintly death, and the sweet ennobling assurance of 
(.vcrlrmiini; joy. 

'i'here are many insinuations, caricatures, and other figures of 
rhetoric, in ihese pages, which have struck us, while reading 
ihem, as illustrations of the kind of weapons which arc nearest at 
hand, and most dexterously wielded, by adversaries whose moral 
earnestness is not strong enough to check the plaj- of their intel- 
lectual adroitness. They seem to furget that they have no 
monopoly of such artillery, no exclusive ])atcnt for its use ; and 
that the lime may cnme wlien men of graver discipline, finding 
iliat iIk's-c advcr-.arics will nut, or darf not, or cannot, meet them 
tairly on the well-fought fields of scholarshiii, of candid iiivesli- 
naiion, of orderly and courteous reasouin.^;, will condescend to 
ihcir own style oltkiiiig things, l;isli tlu-m with unsparing ridicule, 
iind turn a;.Minst tliem the iiidign;inl scorn of all whose opinion 
i- worth caring lor. 

IJi.-forc we laku leave of these Icctin-es, \vc must not omit to 
point out a pleasant iiassnge, wliicli treats us to a specimen of the 
kind of religious iiecdo'm wliicli Engli^liinen may expect, if 
tver the opinions here propoiiiuUd should gain the ascen- 
dant in high places. Among the 'tiling?; which the State may 
and can do' for the eilucation of our people, we ;irc told, most 
amiably I — ' It can /((Ac r"rctlL:it sects and Churches do not pervert 
liie operation of education to ilielr own or class purposes,' 
(p. y^O.) Now, the ^>tiite neitlier may nor can do this thing 
aulil the religious libiitij nj Knijlnnd is dcxlrutjcd. l.r.T him 

WHO I)AK>:S ATTKMl'T li'. 

We remember to have re;id in the ' Westminster Heview,' 
some three years ago, a paper of consideriible power, on Snauss's 
■ Life of Jesus," and 'I'hcodore I'arker's ' of .Matters pa- 


taming to Religion.' We need scarcely say, that there were 
many opinions broached, or hinted, in that review, which our 
convictions led us to reject, but which prepared us for something 
like the article in the April number of the same * Review,' entitled, 
* The Church of England.' Into a detailed, critical, or contro- 
versial notice of that article, we do not feel that we are required 
to enter ; we have not space now left for the purpose ; but we 
are careful to record our protest against the subtle infidelity, the 
perverse confusion of Christianity as we hold it, with what 
we have been habitually opposing as the additions or modifica- 
tions of its professed disciples — the ignorant or studied mis- 
representations of orthodox belief — the bold denunciation of 
the great mediatory principle we receive and cherish, and 
desire to propagate, as the principle of the gospel — the levity 
which trifles with the most awful mysteries of tne Divine govern- 
ment — the dogmatism — the unreasoning substitution of human 
speculations for revealed verities — the laborious accumulation of 
often -refuted objections to the Bible — and, in a word, the animus 
of the entire composition. While there is much to which the 
readers of the ' Eclectic' will probably agree with us in assenting, 
and which we are sure is in accordance with the views of many 
most Evangelical believers, we cannot but lament that truths of 
great practical value, together with man^ literary attractions^, 
should have been so blended with superficial opinions, unsound 
principles, and dark insinuations, as to form a mixture more 
mischievous, on the whole, than any production which has 
lately come before us. 

Why, then, it may be asked, notice these and similar publica* 
tions at all? — why call attention to them from readers who, 
otherwise, might know nothing of them, or content themselves 
with having heard that they are not fit to be introduced to 
Christian families? 

One reason for not pursuing the course of politic silence, or of 
indiscriminate condemnation, is, that we honestly believe there 
has been too much of both already by what is oonventionally 
syled ' the religious public' We certainly do think that persons 
in all classes of Christian society, and especially all Christian 
teachers, should be better acquainted than a great many of 
them are, with the notions of the most active-minded among 
our earnest operatives, and among the more highly educated aif 
our countrymen. 

Another reason which induces us to adopt the seemingly more 
adventurous course, of examining and reporting faithfully audi 
writings as those with which we nave now dealt, is — that we do 
not think it desirable for Christian believers to withhold tlieir 
moral sympathy from persons who may be on the way towards 

southey's life and correspondence. 173 

serious and dangerous error. In what degree the misconcep- 
tions and aversions of disbelievers or doubters may be attributed 
to the narrowness, the timidity, the repulsive spirit, or the 
arrogant bearing, of their censors, is a somewhat delicate question. 
We do not think that all with whose professed beliefe we un- 
feignedly agree, however we may dissent from some of their 
modes of expression, derived by tradition from their fathers, have 
^ven to this question the kind of attention it demands. Perhaps 
it would be found that the number of those who have done so 
is even smaller than we ourselves imagine. If it should be 
proved that this is the actual state of things, then, in conclusion, 
we must say, that a great reform — ^much greater than any of 
those to which we devote so many labours — ^is most imperatively 
called for in the churches of this land, that they may be prepared 
for that struggle which, whether they think of it or not, is rising, 
like the waters of the ocean, all around them. 

Art. IV. — lAfe and Correspondence of the late Robert Soutkey, Vol. IV. 

London : Longman and Co. 

The press is at present exceedingly rich in biographies. One 
might read nothing else, and yet read much. We have of late 
read little else. First, there was the Life of Chalmers, so 
tastefully and carefully got up by his able son-in-law, Dr. 
Hanna — a pleasing and life-like portraiture of one of the most 
meteoric, yet measured, of lives ever passed on earth — in which 
the most eccentric impulses and tendencies were united to keen 
common sense, and intense perseverance and practicalness, and 
in which, latterly, a powerful and independent genius consented 
to run meekly in the rut of celestial faith. We may here, by 
the way, state a curious and interesting fact we lately heard, on 
the best authority, in connexion with that biography. Our 
readers will remember Dr. Chalmers's correspondence with a 
young man of cognate genius, James Anderson, whom he was 
the instrument of confirming in the belief of Christianity ; how he 
went to College with a view to proceed to the ministry ; how, 
under the tuition of Dr. Thomas Brown, and the restless working 
of his own mind, his doubts returned ; and how Dr. Hanna 
intimates that, although still alive, a dark cloud had come down, 
and continued to rest on his history. The melancholy fact is, 
that for twenty-five years this man, of the highest promise, has 
been in an asylum, where his mind had sunk into a state of 

174 southey's life and correspondence. 

almost idiocy. But we are happy to add, that the life of 
Chalmers was lately put into his hands. As he read it, and 
especially the part relating to himself, the scales seemed to fall 
from his eyes — it became manifest that his soul was not dead, 
but only asleep. His malady has been considerably alleviated, 
and it is not impossible but he may even yet be seen ' clothed 
and in his right mind.* 

Then we have had the life of Channing — an able and interest- 
ing, but, on the whole, gloomy, record of dark, uncertain 
struggles, never coming to a satisfactory termination ; exhibiting 
a noble, honest. Christian, but much-overrated man, who 
possessed neither profound insight nor high genius, but thorough 
integrity, calm sense, clear intellect, and considerable rhetorical 
force. Then we had the former volumes of Southey's life. Then 
we have just risen from perusing the delightfully- written life of 
a delightful man — the biography of Dr. Heugh, of Glasgow, by 
his admirable son-in-law, the Rev. H. M. M'Gill — a biography 
where we know not whether more to admire the extreme 
vivacity, the energy, and the piety of the hero, or the fine taste 
and skill of his chronicler. And, besides, what a number of 
biographies may be soon expected. Those of Jeffrey, of Bowles, 
of Wordsworth, and others of similar calibre, are on the stocks, 
and promise us inexhaustible and uncloying pleasure. Would 
that the age of Spenser, Shakspere, Raleigh, and Bacon, had 
been one tithe as well supplied with lives. But the time Mas 
not yet come. 

This fourth volume of Southey's Life docs not cast any new 
light upon his character, nor compel us to modify, by one iota, 
the general estimate we gave some months ago of his genius and 
character. All his merits, his indefatigable industry, his varied 
talent, his strong but calculable genius, his high-spirited honour, 
his stern principle, his attention to all domestic duties, his love 
to his family, are discovered here — and so, too, are his faults, 
his self-esteem, his rigid righteousness, his intense one-sidedness, 
his contempt for his foes, and his bigoted attachment to his 
political party. Without indulging in many general remarks, 
we mean to follow the current of the narrative, interposing a 
word of our own at intervals. 

The volume opens by showing us Southey in his prime (39), 
and commencing one of the most happy and Dusy sections of his 
life. The affairs of the * Edinburgh Annual Register ' have gc»t 
embarrassed, and it is no longer a source of revenue to him. But 
this deficiency is abundantly made up by the ' Quarterly Review/ 
to which he has become a regular contributor, and for his con- 
tributions to which he is soon to be paid at the rate of one 
hundred pounds each. 

southey's life and correspondence. 175 

We need not dwell on the merits or defects of this celebrated 
periodical. We have, quietly speaking, no great love for it. 
O'Connell was wont to describe the * Standard ' newspaper as 
' dripping ' with the blood of * red Rathcormac' We always see 
the dun cover of the ' Quarterly ' dripping with the blood of 
Keats, Shelley, Hunt, and Hazlitt. Nor, to counterbalance its 
fearful sins of critical commission or omission, have we found, 
through a careful perusal of the greater part of its contents, 
much criticism of permanent value. No volume of selections 
from it would ever live. Its articles were most of them 
good, but few of them great. And, besides its outrageous 
injustice to political opponents, there was a contemptible coldness 
in its treatment of the productions of contemporary talent. 
Witness its heartless critiques on some of the first Waverley 
novels — such as * Guy Mannering ' — a tale which no Scotchman, 
at least, can mention without the blood coming to his cheek, and 
the fire to his eye. By far the best papers in it were contributed 
by Sir W. Scott, and were unique and inimitable in their kindly 
spirit, their varied knowledge, the easy undress of their style, 
and their delicious gossip. Next to these we like the papers 
of Southey, which, ranging over a very wide extent and variety 
of subjects, are rarely so pleasant as when they seek to shed 
their condescending sunlight upon old and forgotten, or obscure 
and neglected, authors. 

This was, indeed, the finest trait in Southey 's character. He 
was a warm-hearted, yet wise and candid, literary patron — as 
Kirke White, Dusantoy, Herbert Knowles, E. Elliott, and 
others, could testify. There are various classes of literary 
patrons, whom it may be worth while to discriminate. There is 
the vain patronizer, who uses a rising writer as a stepping-stone 
to subserve his own selfish purposes. There is the unwise 
patronizer, who overpraises and spoils his proteg^. There is 
the insincere patronizer, who can say something in favour of a 
man — can promise to help him, but who takes care never to do 
it. There is the careless, half-and-half patron, who, from sheer 
negligence, does a man more ill than good — who first plucks 
him from the sea, and then lets him drop between his finger and 
thumb into deeper water. There is the jealous patron, who 
first admires, and is then base enough to envy, his man. There 
is the sensitive and selfish patron, who is always exacting the 
interest of his lent aid in full tale ; and looks more sharply to 
the quid than to the pro quo. There is the belated patron, who, 
in Johnson's language, 'encumbers one with help.' There is 
the haughty patron, who doles out his praise in scanty driblets, 
and witJh an air of insufferable insolence of condescension. 
And there is the manly, sincere, kindly, and true-hearted patron. 

176 southey's life and correspondence. 

like Scott or Southey^ who bases his blame or praise, encourage- 
ment or coldness, upon high principle — who does to another 
precisely what he would wish diat other to do to him — whose 
praise is the stamp of immortality^ and whose blame is like a 
divine caveat. 

About this time, Southey wrote and published the ' Life of 
Nelson/ one of the most pleasing of his works. It tells a 
chequered, successful, blood-spangled, and mysterious story, 
gracefully, if not satisfactorily. The Napoleon of the deck 
receives a certain softness as well as grandeur from his pen. 
He makes a demi-god out of a demi-man. Nelson seems to us a 
one-eyed game-cock, run all to spur and beak, rather than a 
hero. He had amazing pluck, but pluck is no more valour than 
cunning is wisdom. He was a mannikin, too, in stature ; and in 
the infernal regions of war, imps, such as Alexander the Great, 
Suwarrow, and Napoleon, have always been favourites. Such 
concentrations of fury, such ' essences of devil,' as John Foster 
would say, amaze and terrify all of us. He was maimed^ too ; 
and the spectacle of a little man^ half blown away by gunpowder, 
and yet ruling with his stump-sceptre the British navy, had 
a peculiarly poignant effect. Had he been French, his country- 
men, who are passionately fond of all monstrosities, of all odd, 
angular greatness, would have deified him, as they did the old, 
grinning death's-head of Femey, or the liule skinny corporal of 

In the September of 1813, Southey visited London, and met 
with Lord Byron, who was then, for a short time, enacting the 
tame lion in the saloons of society previous to his fierce and final 
leap over the fence into the wilderness. He was better pleased 
with him then than ever before or afterwards. They never 
could, by any possibility, have been friends, or even alliet. 
What power could have made the pride of virtue in the one, and 
the pride of vice in the other — the dogmatic certainty of the 
one, and the shoreless scepticism of the other — the cultured and 
elaborate genius of Southey, and the one red swelling vein of 
demon power in Bvron — ^to have coalesced? Ab soon misht 
Michael and Satan, m the ' Vision of Judgment,' have sailed 
down, linked together, throughout the universe. 

When in London, the laureateship, which had been declined 
by Scott, was offered to Southey, who accepted it, on the con- 
dition that he should only write when the * spirit moved him.* 
We have no heart to dwell on the lays of his laureateship. They 
are, all and singly, a mass of ridiculous rubbish — rubbish, the 
more ridiculous that it is severely riddled, gravely laid dow^n, 
and pompously piled up. Turn we rather to ' Roderick* — his 
last poem worthy of him, which glorified the next year. Tlic 

southey's life and correspondence. 177 

author himself considered it the best which he could ever do, 
and felt naturally a pang at finding himself at his climax. We 
would not be thought blind to its very great merits — its beauti- 
ftd descriptions, its testamentary gravity, its sweet and solemn 
spirit, the penitential shadow which rests like a dark wing upon 
it all, or the sublime moralizings in which it abounds. Still 

* The line labours and the words move slow.' 

It produces the effect which an entire poem of Alexandrines 
would. Its spirit is slow, its line slow, its motion slow. * Can't 
Tou get on V is the universal feeling. • Like a wounded snake, 
It drags its length along ;' the more provokingly, that the snake 
is a mighty boa. Vulcan was a gOd — but he limped none the 
less. We greatly prefer, as we stated in our former article, the 
* Curse of Kehama,' the wild enchantment and ethereal horror 
of which bring it to the very threshold of the highest works 
of creative genius. 

' " Roderick " was scarcely launched before the battle of 
Waterloo roused all the Tory gratitude in Southcy's nature. He 
celebrated it by a bonfire upon Skiddaw — a piece of poetical 
tomfoolery which forms rather a pleasing exception to the staid 
formality of his usual life, and where poor Wordsworth, while 
staring, probably, at a star, and speculating at what angle it best 
gave him the idea of the Infinite, stumbled over a kettle contain- 
ing the punch-water, and overturned it.' We wonder how such 
wise men as Southey and Wordsworth could have dreamed, even 
for an hour, that the battle of Waterloo was a final stop to 
the revolutionary current — in any sense, * the Armageddon of 
the world.' Not thus did the sagacious minds of Coleridge or 
De Quincey regard it. Hall, too, thought it had put the clock 
of Europe back several degrees. There was not, perhaps, 
enough of the revolutionary clement extant in Southey's mind 
to foresee that this was only a single wave broken on the shore, 
while the mighty stream of tendency must necessarily gain 
ground. Byron was a wiser seer when he said, * the Powers 
war against the Peoples. Blood may be shed like water, and 
tears like mist ; but the Peoples will conquer in the end.' Let 
these words be pondered now by those wiseacres who dream that 
the volcanoes in Hungary, Italy, and Germany, are asleep for 
ever. The revolutionary demon has only had another reel in 
his terrible dance done ; he must rise, and, perhaps with Ruin as 
his partner for a season, have his dance out. The sea and the 
waves must roar louder and louder still, ere the great calm of the 
milder day shall arrive. 

To Waterloo, with a third of Britain, Sonthcy hied, partly to 
gratify curiosity, and partly to find muiter for a poem. Behind 


178 southey's life and correspondence. 

the banner of a conqueror not only flock the ravens of carnage, 
but the birds of song. The harp follows the sword, and would 
prolong the echo of its triumphs. Yet, of all the bards of 
W aterloo, Byron only succeeded. And this because he did not 
visit for the purpose of singing it at all — and because the sad 
glories of warfare are best described by a sad-hearted man : it is 
but fit that blood should be mirrored in bile — the mad field be 
imaged by the unhappy heart. 

The most interesting thing connected with Southey's journey 
to Waterloo, is not tne poem it produced (which, as a whole, 
was not so valuable as one sheaf of the harvest which that * red 
rain' so abundantly produced), but the view a passage in it 
gives us of his domestic happiness and his love to his family, 
which was amply repaid. The passage is that describing his 
return home. We can only quote the first two stanzas :— 

* Oh, joyful hour, when to our longing home 

The long-expected wheels at length drew nigh ! 

When the first sound went forth, *• They come, they come !" 
And hope*8 impatience quickened every eye. 

Never had man, whom Heaven would heap with bliss. 

More glad return, more happy hour, than this. 

' Aloft, on yonder bench, with arms dispread. 

My boy stood, shouting there his fathcr*8 name. 

Waving his hat around his happy head ; 

And there, a younger group, his sisters came— 

Smiling they stood, with looks of pleased surprise. 

While tears of joy were seen in elder eyes.' 

Who would not be willing to sacrifice the fame of a homden 
Homer, the genius of a banished Dante, or the insight of a 
' childless cherub,' had he any or all of them, to have been able 
to transfer such a scene tohis page ? Alas ! poor Byron had 
no kind family to which to return from his * Pilgrimage to 
Waterloo' — ^he was a * wanderer o'er eternity ;' and if he bad 
worked for, and deserved the dreary distinction of having no 
home but hell — the hell of his own heart — does not this thought 
only add to the misery of the case, and should it not add to the 
depth of the compassion ? 

This dear ' shouting boy' was not long to be Southey V Be- 
loved of his father, Herbert was, also, according to the fine 
pagan fiction, ' envied of the gods.' He died at ten T^^^n of 
age, and his death seems to have given his father the mt of a 
series of shocks, which at last levelled him to the dust. But, for 
the present, he stood the blow in a manly and Christian spirit. 
He shook, but it was like Skidduw in an earthquake, to regain 
instantly bis equilibrium. His personal piety, too, firom that 

southey's life and correspondence. 179 

hour deepened, softened, came down from the high perch of his 
intellect to nestle in his heart He complains, that * formerly he 
was too happy — ^his affections were fastened by too many roots 
to this world — ^this precarious life was too dear to him.' All 
this was now changed, and changed for everv He now, for the 
first time, * ceased to be a loy,^ 

Misfortunes are gregarious. The loss of his son was followed 
to Southey by a multitude of disagreeable circumstances. After 
the rain of Waterloo the clouds returned. Political discontent 
came to a height. A revolutionary panic invaded even the soli- 
tudes of the lakes. Southey became more and more immersed 
in the wretched political discussions of that uneasy, unhappy 
time. He became the hack politician of the * Quarterly,' and 
was even called to London and consulted by Ministers. Mean- 
while, his enemies were not idle. An edition of Wat Tyler 
was published to insult him — William Smith, a man famous in 
his day, but now a 

' Noteless blot on a remembered name,* 

assailed him in Parliament ; and the rejoinder, by its very keen- 
ness, showed how deeply die ' iron had entered into his soul.' 
He evidently considered himself a marked man in case of a 
revolution ; and saw the red chalk of the wood-cutter, as if ' it 
had been blood.' His youthful friends, Dusantoy and Herbert 
Knowles, had followed Kirke White to the grave ; but still the 
long sting of his impulse — that lance of lightning which ran 
through his whole history— remained the same. He continued 
his extensive correspondence, wrote on at his reviews, and, 
besides other works, commenced, and concluded a life of Wesley, 
which at once contained a vast mass of curious information, and 
sought a politic object — that of reconciling the Wesleyans to poor 
old Mother Church, then shaking in a desperate palsy. Two 
situations, also, during those years, he declined — the one, that 
of writing the leading article for the ' Times,' at a salary of 
£i^,000 a year; and the other, the office of librarian to the 
Advocates' Library, Edinburgh — an office which David Hume 
had held. He was wise in his declinature — feeling the force of 
the line of Wordsworth, 

' Shine, poet, in thy place, and be content' 

In the same period, he nearly completed his elaborate work on 
the Brazils ; took a tour, carefully journalized, to Switzerland 
(where he noticed and kindly marked down Shelley's mad post- 
fix * Atheos ' to his name at the album of Mont Auvert — an act no 
more praiseworthy than had he recorded some new oath he had 
heard from some passport-provoked Briton on his travels) ; gave 


180 southky's i.tfk and correspondence. 

some sound advice to Ebenezer Elliott and Allan Cunningham, 
who had both consulted him anent their poetry (without very 
clearly seeing, or surely prognosticating, the genius and fame of 
either) ; had another son bom to him ; took a delightful trip 
through Scotland, in the bright and beautiful autumn of 1819 ; 
commenced his * Tale of Paraguay ;' and is left, at the close of 
this volume, projecting another journey to London. 

We close this rapid analysis of the fourth volume of Southey's 
life, by a few brief and solid inferences which we mean to state, 
not to illustrate. First, it is pleasing to find a life so consistent 
as his — evolving like a piece of music, secure as a mathematical 
theorem, punctual as a planet. Secondly, it is sorrowful to 
think that such a life no more has propagated itself than the 
Skiddaw near which it was passed. It stands alone, with not 
even the transient shadow which a stcdfast mountain casts. 
Southey's life may be lived by some literary men, but thev are, 
we fear, few ; and the motives and purposes of those who do 
pass it are seldom Southey's. Or, shall wc rather say, that 
Southey's life was characteristically a lake, not a river : like a 
lake — pure, still, and solitary; not like a river — checquercd, 
bustling, progressive, and communicative. Thirdly, the true 
ideal of the literary life is that of a combination of the elements 
of purity and progress — a river-lake winding through the gross- 
nesses and miseries of the world, and yet reflecting the image 
of the heavens, in unsullied clearness, from its bosom — ^brilliant 
as light or fire, and as fire and light incontaminatc. This life 
has hardly, in the present age, been lived ; but lived it must be, 
ere literature reach her apotheosis, and be made ready, as the 
bride, to be wedded to the * Religion of the liamb.' We n€>ed 
now a ' virtue that is merciful ;' a holiness that has been tested 
by trial, not by flight; a faith that would not kill, but kiss un- 
belief into suDJection ; a Christian theory of the universe, too, 
that would not absolutely repel, but rather attract, imperfect 
and inferior systems, like minor satellites, around its mild, yet 
imperious orb; and neither dogmatic argument, nor intellectual 

[>ower, can effect this object, without the additional evangel of a 
iberal, honest, yet earnest and determined, life — if, indeed, all 
human efforts, however praiseworthy, are not doomed to be 
superseded by a higher and final avatar, which * eye hath not 
seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the mind of 
man to conceive.' 

We close by remarking of this volume that, while the inter- 
mediate chain of narrative is pleasing, it is somewhat slight-— 
betraying little depth or power of writing on the part of the 
biographer ; and that the corre^JK)ndence, which plentifully 
supplements the narration, while exceedingly agreeable 


record of events, and as a specimen of clean and clear English, 
contains little that is original, striking, or to which, unlike 
Burns's, Cowper's, and Byron's correspondence, we ever desire 
to recur. Still, the book, as a whole, is worthy of attentive and 
universal perusal; and we expect the succeeding volumes to 
increase in what may be probably a melancholy interest — for, to 
use Lockhart's words at the end of the fifth volume of the * Life 
of Scott,' * the muffled drum is now approaching.' 

Art. V. — The Literature of the Kymry ; being a Critical Essay on 
the History of the Language and Literature of Wales, during the 
Twelfth and two succeeding Centuries, By Thomas Stephens. 
Prize Essay. Longman and Co. 1849. Pp. 512. 

Nearly six hundred years have elapsed since English strength 
finally triumphed over Welsh bravery. Various and alternate 
had been the struggles, victories, and triumphs, of the two nations. 
King Arthur, Rhys ap Tewdwr, and Owain Gwynedd, are 
names distinguished in the annals of this warfare. Conquest 
often beamed on the Welsh shield, and lighted up the ranks of 
the sons of Cambria ; until, in an evil hour, on the plains of 
Brecknock, the sovereignty of Wales was for ever laid low, and 
the last of her princes slain in the hour of retirement and soli- 
tude. Thus was fulfilled the prophecy of her son, Taliesyn, 
' Ei Ner a folant, ei hiaith a gadwant, ei tir a goUant ond 
gwyllt Walia' — Their God they'll adore, their language they'll 
keep, their country they'll lose except wild Wales. 

It is a trite remark, that Wales has produced no individual 
distinguished in the first ranks of literature, science, or art. She 
is thus said to be exceptional to the other three portions of the 
kingdom. England has produced her Shakspere, Hooker, Bacon, 
IVIilton, Hobbes, Butler, Newton, Locke, and Paley ; Scotland, 
her Maclaurin, Adam Smith, Stewart, Brown, Burns, Campbell, 
Scott, Jeffrey, and Chalmers ; Ireland, her Spencer, Boyle, 
Burke, Moore, Curran, and Grattan ; while Wales lies undis- 
tinguished in any one of the walks which the foregoing names 
illustrate. The observation, we fear, is too well founded in the 
main, while there are circumstances in the history and condition 
of the Welsh which mitigate, if they do not altogether remove, 
the aspersion involved in the truism. 

The first of these circumstances, is the numerical smallness of 


the people. The Welsh nation, even in the reigns of King 
Arthur, Owain Gwynedd, or Hywel Dda, although occupying 
territorially a larger space than they have within the last century, 
were thinly scattered over the country they inhabited. In those 
times, it is probable, from the best accounts, that the Welsh 
population never exceeded 2,000,000. Their number according 
to the last census was 911,821. 

Other causes being equal, the probability of the rise of dis- 
tinguished men among a small nation or people is less strong 
than in a great one. This probability is not in proportion to the 
numerical power of the two nations, but decreases, and more 
forcibly, as the one is less than the other. In other words, the 
relative probability of the rise of distinguished men in a small 
and in a great nation, is not in the ratio of their numerical 
sirength. The moral and political causes existing in a great 
nation produce different results than can be accounted for by the 
mere fact of its numerical superiority. In this, as in many other 
instances, moral and political causes differ in the quantum of 
productive power, from those which are merely numerical, 
mathematical, or physical. 

The political circumstances which are favourable to the growth 
and development of great attainments appear to be three — 1, the 
existence of general intelligence in the community ; i, of 
academic institutions; and, 3, of wealth. The first, or the 
existence of general intelligence in the community, is fitvourable 
to mental progress, from the advanced level which the candidates 
for distinction start from ; and by reason of the greater sympathy, 
encouragement, and reward, rendered to the successful com* 
petitors by such a society. The existence of academic institu- 
tions is necessary for the nurture and development of the talent 
and genius of the nation ; while none of these advantages can 
exist, in any high degree, without the possession of wealu. 

The three circumstances alluded to can only exist in a nation 
somewhat considerable. They are the concomitants and attri- 
butes of its greatness ; while a small nation is, by the import of 
the terms, not possessed of them. Wales is in the latter con* 
dition. Whatever she may have possessed, or possesses, of the 
advantages alluded to, she has only in miniature. She never 
attained to national greatness. 

llie second circumstance which may be mentioned as detri- 
mental to the mental and social progress of the Welsh, is the 
prevalence of their language. ITic great majority of the people 
of Scotland have, for the last century, adopted the English lan- 
guage. So have the Irish. But not so the Welsh : fulhlling the 
propliecy alluded to — altliough they have long lost their country, 
or. at k'afct, independent rule over it — they retain their language. 


It continues to be the medium of intercourse by the majority of 
the Welsh people. 

Language is the medium for the communication of ideas. 
The language of a people at any ffiven time, is a true test of the 
amount of knowledge and civilization which they possess. From 
the infancy of society, when the savage utters his sounds, and 
makes his signs, to communicate his wishes or wants to his 
fellow, down through the various long and winding ages which 
must elapse before that same society reaches the climax of 
civilization, its language, for the time being, is a never-failing 
index to its social and political condition. The first language of 
a people is that of sounds and signs. These are such as the 
occasion naturallv suggests. At first they are unintelligible; 
but, by a repetition of the circumstances, the same sound or 
sign is, by common consent, employed to denote the same object 
or thing. These are the germs of language. At first language 
only described external and material objects. It afterwards 
reached immaterial things, or spiritual and moral objects. The 
process of the formation of language is gradual, and obtains only 
by slow and painful steps. The first words must have been 
those which described simple external objects — as a tree, a 
brook, or a cloud. Even general terms, descriptive of external 
objects — as a plain or a forest — ^must have been employed 
before any language was formed expressive of mental ideas. 
And here, again, the same process was pursued : first, simple, 
mental ideas were expressed ; then these were put together, and 
general terms used. The language of a society or people was 
necessarily confined to the ideas and objects with which they 
were at the time conversant. New words were invented, and 
the vocabulary of the people or nation extended, as from time 
to time they coined new ideas, or became acquainted with 
fresh objects. Thus language, like most terrestrial things, was 
gradually formed : first, simple objects were expressed by simple 
words ; then general ideas were communicated by appropriate 
terms. The last efforts of the faculty of language must have 
been those which affixed a vocabulary to the abstract sciences. 

The Welsh nation retain their language until the present day. 
The majority of the Scotch and Irish people have long abandoned 
theirs, and have adopted the English. The last has been for 
centuries the language of the learned and scientific in this 
kingdom, and the "depository of their discoveries and works. It 
is the language which has led the learning and civilization of 
the empire. The natives of the Principality were therefore, 
by their own institutions, placed in a disadvantageous position, 
compared with the inhabitants of the rest of the kingdom, in the 
race after learning and fame. 


Yet, notwithstanding the disadvantages referred to, the Prin- 
cipality has produced names that rank high in the annals of 
distinction. In poetry we find a Taliesyn, a Dafydd ap 
Gwilym, and a Williams of Pantycelyn ; in general literature, 
a Sir William Jones, and Drs. Rhys and Pugne ; in languages, 
a Giraldus Cambrensis, a Jones, and a Williams ; in natural 
science, a Pennant; in law, a Powell, a Richards, and a 
Kenyon ; and in the terrible art of war, a Syr Darid Gam, 
a Picton, and a Nott. These are names, some of which stand at 
the summit of the walks which they pursued, while the others 
hold an honourable place in the pages of fame. 

It has been often asked, what are the chief characteristics of 
Welsh literature ? The question, as far as we are aware, has 
not yet had a complete solution. 

Mr. Macaulay has justly observed, * Nations, like individuals, 
first perceive, and then abstract They advance from particular 
images to general terms. Hence, the vocabulary of an en- 
lightened society is philosophical — that of a half-civilized people 
is poetical.' Without implying that the Welsh people are not 
as civilized^ in the general acceptation of the term, as their 
neighbours, we still think that their literature is more poetical 
than philosophic — more descriptive than scientific. The poets 
of Wales are more numerous than her philosophers or men of 
science, as their productions are certainly of greater excellence. 
Her poetry can compete with the best productions of the English 
or Scottish muse ; and, if it should ever be the glory of the Welsh 
language (as it is of its classic predecessors of Greece and Rome) 
to be studied and acquired a century after it shall have ceased to 
be a living tongue, the toil will be undergone by those alone 
who would wish to explore the treasures left by her bardic son*. 

A love for poetry has characterised the Welsh people from 
the earliest period. An order of tlie Druidical priests were 
bards, and their poetry exercised a potent spell over the multi- 
tude. The Welsh chieAains had each his bard, who delighted 
his lord with songs of love and victory in tiroes of peace, and 
accompanied him in war. On the latter occasion, the bard's 
service was no mean one ; he rocired to the army the triumphs 
of their forefathers on less auspicious days, and incited them 
to similar deeds. The effect was often magical. Aroused to 
enthusiasm by the narration of their fathers achievements, the 
army often rushed impetuously to battle, • and secured the 
triumph. But in a season of calamity, did Gray's bard sing— 

' On dreary Arvon's shore they lie.' 

We think the two grand characteristics of Welsh poetry are 
power and pathos. I'he poetry of Wales may better compare 


with that of England in Shakspere's age, than of any later 
period. There is a license of idea and language allowed in both, 
which would not be tolerated in a more philosophic and advanced 
epoch. This is a common remark as applied to the earlier poets 
of England, and therein consisted the power of their verse. 
Homer and Shakspere both lived in the earlier ages of civiliza- 
tion, and they are the two monarchs of poetical power. The 
later poets of England excel in accuracy of conception and 
beauty of style, in harmonious versification and chasteness of 
thought ; yet they are wanting in all the grander elements of 
poetry — in all those qualities which inspire the deepest emotions 
of terror, horror, pity, hatred, and love. The one is beautiful, 
the other is sublime ; the one is pleasing, the other is majestic. 
As the nation has been advancing in science and the arts, poetry 
has been declining in sublimity and power. The culture of the 
understanding weakens the efforts of imagination; the strengthen- 
ing of the judgment deadens the passions. A people not far 
advanced in mental attainments delight in those strong masculine 
pictures of nature and man, which their poets and orators create ; 
while those nations which have reached higher culture would be 
displeased rather than gratified by such exhibitions, and value 
more perfect, though less forcible, images — more accurate, though 
less grand, workmanship. Poetry therefore flourishes most in 
the earlier ages of society, while later times are dedicated more 
to philosophical research. 

By power in poetry is meant that quality which produces 
great effect. The aphorism is no less true in morals than 
physics, that like causes produce like effects. The result is 
always commensurate with, and similiar to, the means which 
brought it to pass. That poetry, therefore, which is capable of 
producing great effect has power. This quality eminently dis- 
tinguishes the poetry of Wales. It is also characteristic of the 
language ; and there is, therefore, a combination of power in the 
language and ideas of the people of this country. A stranger 
witnessing the powerful effects of a Welsh oration or sermon, 
would be perplexed to discover the cause of so much enthusiasm. 
The explanation we have before given. The language, learn- 
ing, and ideas of the people, have not yet passed the poetical 
cycle in the history of nations. 

Perhaps the quality, which, beyond all others, characterises the 
poetry of Wales, is pathos. The Welsh people have always 
been distinguished for the possession of intense feeling. The 
same remark is applicable to all the Celtic races. The French 
and Irish people share the quality in an eminent degree. The 
Saxon and the Gaelic tribes are more characterised by strength 
of judgment and power of reasoning, as well as solidity of 


character and determination of purpose ; while the Celts arc 
distinguished by more vivid imagination, more brilliant wit, 
finer taste, and deeper pathos. These constitute the poetical 

The religious poetry of Wales bears a much larger proportion 
than any other, and into its channels has the Welsh poet poured 
his richest gifts. Here he has breathed his divinest song. In 
chastencss of style, happy illustration, tender pathos, as well as 
devout feeling, the religious poetry of the rrindpalitjr much 
excels any collection in me English language, not exceptmg that 
of Watts. But the acknowleged prince in this department is 
William Williams, of Pantyceljoi. His hymns are unapproach- 
able for animated devotion and pathos. Much of their interest 
is necessarily lost in translation. The following are selected by 
way of example. We omit the original in deference to the 
ignorance of our English readers : — 

f Translation. J 

* BabePs waters are so bitter, 

There is naught but weeping still, 
Zion's harps, so sweet and tuneful, 

Do my heart with rapture fill : 
Bring thou us a jojful gathering 

From the dread captivity. 
And until on Zion*8 mountain 

Liet there be no rest for mc. 

*■ In this land I am a stranger, 

Yonder is my native home. 
Far beyond the stormy billows. 

Where sweet Canaan's hillocks gloom ; 
Tempests wild from sore temptation 

Did my vessel long detain. 
Speed, oh ! gentle eastern breezes. 

Aid me soon to cross this main.* 

^ Had I but the wings of a dove. 

To regions afar Fd repair. 
To Nebo*s high summit would rove. 

And look on a country more fair. 
My eyes gazing over the flood, 

I*d spend the remainder of life 
Bcholdmg the Saviour so good. 

Who for sinners expired in strife.' 

* Once I steered through the billows. 
On a dark, relentless night, 
Strip|)cd of sail — the surge so heinous. 
And no refuge within sight. 


Strength and skill alike were ended, 

Naught but sinking in the tide, 
While amid the gloom appeared 

Bethlehem's star to be my guide.* 

' Fix, O Lord, a tent in Goshen, 

Thither come, and there abide. 
Bow thyself from light celestial. 

And with sinful man reside. 
Dwell in Zion, there continue. 

Where the holy tribes ascend; 
Do not e'er desert thy people. 

Till the world in flames shall end.' 

A short account of the most eminent of the earlier bards of 
Wales mayr not be umnterestin^ to otir readers, and will form 
an mpropriate supplement to what we have already said. 

The first, in point of time and celebrity, was Aneurin. He 
was the son of a Welsh chieftain, and was born at the commence- 
ment of the sixth century. He was early bred to the use of 
arms, and distinguished himself at the battle of Cattraeth, which 
was fought between the Welsh and the Saxons, but proved 
disastrous to the Welsh, and particularly to our bard. He was 
taken prisoner, and consigned to a dungeon, where he languished 
a considerable time in chains, but, being rescued by the instru- 
mentality of Cenau, a son of the venerable bard, Llywarch Hen, 
he retired to South Wales, and took refuge at Cadog's College, 
at Llancarvan, where he remained many years, and composed 
his principal poem, * The Gododin.' This is a production of the 
martial strain, and is descriptive of the battle of Cattraeth. 
The death of this poet occurred about the year 670, and was 
occasioned by a blow from the axe of an assassin. 

The greatest of the ancient Welsh bards was Taliesyn. 
There is some uncertainty respecting the precise time of his 
birth, but the best accounts place it at the commencement of the 
sixth century. His early history savours of romance. It is 
recorded that he was discovered, soon after his birth, in a fishing 
weir on the coast of Cardigan, belonging to Gwyddno, a petty 
prince of that country, and was found there in a basket, or 
coracle, like Moses, by some fishermen, who carried him to 
Gwyddno, whose only son. Elfin, took him under his protection. 
Whether this account be true or not, it is certain that Taliesyn 
was a native of this part of Wales, and enjoyed the friendship 
and protection of Gwyddno and Elfin. Among his works is a 
poem entitled * The Consolation of Elfin,' in which the latter is 
gratefully eulogized for his patronage of the young bard. After 
spending some time at the College of Cadog, in South Wales, 


where he formed the acquaintance of Aneurin^ he is said to 
have retired to Carnarvonshire, and to have died about the 
year 570. 

The productions of this bard are numerous, and of them 
about eighty poems remain. They comprise a variety of 
subjects, but are, for the most part, religious, historical, and 
elegiac. His creed appears to have been a compound of 
Druidism and Christianity. Even at this early period, the 
latter was much cultivated among the Welsh. 

We now arrive at an individual as eminent in war as in 
poetry — Llywarch Hen, or Llywarch the Aged. He was 
descended from a long line of princes, or military chieftains, who 
had formerly exercised supreme rule over the whole island. 
He was early trained to arms ; for which he had frequent occa- 
sion in the many wars which then occurred between the 
Welsh and Saxons. We find him, like Aneurin, engaged in 
the battle of Cattraeth, the fatal result of which drove him to 
flight. He is supposed to have spent much of his subsequent 
life at Pengwern, or Shrewsbury, the seat of Cynddylan, then 
Prince of Powys. He seems to have been afterwards bereft of 
this refuge, as we find him in his sonnets bewailing his wretched 
condition and hard fate. He is recorded to have died at a 
great age, some accounts say 150 years, at Llanvor, near Bala, 
in Merionethshire ; his eleven sons having been previously slain 
in battle. 

Twelve poems, the production of this bard, are extant. Six of 
them are historical, the others moral and miscellaneous ; but all 
are deeply tinged with the bitterness and melancholv which 
appear to have formed so large a portion of the venerable bard's 
own history. 

For several centuries, we find no bard of note whose works 
are extant, until we come to Dafvdd ap Gwilym, who has been 
styled the Petrarch of Wales, tie was born at a place called 
Bro Gynin, in the parish of Llanbadam-fawr, Cardiganshire, 
about the year 1340, and was iilubtriously descended on each 
line of parentage. After a desultory youth, we find him, at an 
early age, living at Maesalcff, in Monmouthshire, enjojang the 
hospitality and friendship of Ivor Hael, a near relative of his 
father. lie appears so far to have won the confidence of his 
patron, as to have been appointed his steward, and also instructor 
of his only daughter. A mutual attachment was, however^ the 
consequence of the latter position, which grew to such an extent 
as to necessitate the separation of teacher and pupil. The young 
lady was removed to a convent in the island of Anglesey. She 
was followed by Dafydd, who entered the service of a neigh- 
bouring monastery, in a menial capacity, and consoled himself 


by composing poetry in praise of his fair one. The suit was 
unsuccessfnl. He was afterwards elected chief bard of Gla- 
morgan. His poetical reputation made him a welcome guest at 
the festivals which, in those days, were very common in the 
mansions of the Welsh gentry. His latter years were spent in 
his native parish of Llanbadarn-fawr, where he died about the 
year 1400. He was buried at Ystrad Flur, in the county of 
Cardigan ; and a kindred spirit has placed the Tollowing lines 
over his grave : — 


* Gwilym, blessed by all the nine, 

Sleep'st thou then beneath this tree ; 
'Neath this yew, whose foliage fine 

Shades alike thy soul and thee. 
Mantling yew-tree, he lies near, 

Gwilym, Teivi's nightingale ; 
And his song too slumbers here, 

Tuneless ever through the vale. ' 

The works of this poet which have reached us are numerous, 
exceeding 260 poems. They are, for the most part, domestic 
and pacific; but the whole are sprightly, figurative, and bold, 
and are enriched by a vein of tender pamos. There is an 
excellent translation of his Poems, by A. J. Johnes, published 
by Hooper, Pall Mall, in 1834. 

We have now commemorated the chief of the ancient bards of 
Wales. Others were, doubtless, their peers, whose productions 
have not had the good fortune of being rescued from oblivion. 
In all sublunary aflFairs, a few only gain the fame and prizes, 
while the multitude are consigned to obscurity. In the distribu- 
tion of human rewards, there is often great injustice, and the 
adage is constantly exemplified, that the race is not to the swift, 
nor the battle to the strong, but time and chance happeneth to 
them all. 

Of the modem poets of Wales, a host may be named. Among 
these are Gwilym Ddu, Goron wy Owain, Williams of Pantycelyn, 
Dewi Wyn, Daniel Ddu, lolo Morgan wg, Gutyn Peris, G. 
Cawrdaf, Gwallter Mechain, Bardd Nanlglyn, and Gwilym 
Caledfryn. In their eflfusions may be found passages of sublimity 
and beauty worthy of comparison with the poetry of any age or 
country, but the limited prevalence of the language in which 
they are written, prevents them being known and appreciated as 
extensively as they deserve. To the Welshman, however, they 
are precious, and often solace his hours of pain, solitude, or 
fatigue. Frequently are their strains heard enlivening the cot- 
tage of the peasant, and echoing among the hills of Gwalia. 


Before concluding, we mast glance at the present conditioi 
and prospects of the Welsh language. 

The two great characteristics of the Welsh language ar< 
power and expressiveness. In these particulars it may compete 
with the original languages, and is superior to any of the dcriva 
tive tongues. Itself is an original language, perhaps one of th* 
oldest of living European tongues, it may want the artificin 
arrangement, the finished structure and polish, of many livinj 
languages, hut in force and expression it transcends most of th 
old and all the modern tongues. 

For some two thousand years this language has been spokei 
by the Welsh people in this island ; yet, ever since the con 
quest of the Welsh by the Saxons, the language of the forme 
has been gradually on the wane, while that of the latter has beci 
extending its limits. The declension of the former is as rapid a 
the present as at any former period, and from the great stride 
taken by the English language in our own day, with the csta 
blishmcnt of railway and other improved means of communica 
tion, now connecting and identif^g the FrincipaUty with th. 
sister country, we prophesy a still more rapid consumption fo 
the Welsh tongue. At no very distant day it may live only u 
the prose and poetry of the country. 

Nor do we think that the extinction of their language would h 
any very great loss to the inhabitants of Wales. The existenc 
of two languages among the subjects of the same crown, and tri 
butary to the same laMrs, is an unmixed evil. The division ii 
language effects a division in more important relations. It pre 
serves and fosters the animosity and rancour of different racec 
perpetuates feud and national strife, and in effect ploughs up th 
good feeling and friendly intercourse of the inhabitants of th 
same kingdom. It restricts the social and commercial relation 
of the people, besides being highly detrimental to the Welsh ii 
depriving them of the advantages exclusively derivable from th 
possession of an adequate knowledge of die English tongui 
The latter is the emporium of the oest works and latest dif 
covcries in science and art, besides beinff the language of th 
laws and literature of the country, as well as the avenue to dii 
tinction, preferment, and power. The Welshman who is eon 
versant only with his vernacular tongue, is, therefore, undc 
great and weightydisadvantages in the prosecution of any of th 
objects of life. The abolition of that language, therefore, ho^ 
repugnant soever to the feelings and long-cherished associatioE 
of the Wekhman, would be to him the greatest boon. It ab 
follows, that its retention obstructs the progress of the inhabitant 
of the Principality in all the higher deveio nts of oiviliiataoi 
In the spirit of brotherhood and friendsh d with an eamei 



J record these, it may be, u 

Irish for their advancement, do 
yieaanal convictions. 

The work at the head of this article won a prize at a late 
Eisteddvod; the adjudicator being the Ven. Archdeacon Wil- 
liams, and the donor of the prize, the Prince of Wales, to whom 
the essay is, by permission of the Ciucen, dedicated. It appears 
to be a careful compilation, and clearly written, although wanting 
' ' " sophical aimlysis and poetical sympathies. 

Aw. VI.— TV Martyrt nf Carthoge. ' A Tale of the Times of Old.' 

By Mrs. J. B. Webb, Author of ' Naomi Julamcrk." Two Vols. 
London ; Bcntley. 

It would bo faint and superfluous praise to say of one of Mrs. 
Webb's stories, that its general tendency is salutary and elevating. 
In religious fiction she seems to have found the sphere for which 
she was expressly designed. Slic docs that with felicity and 
success in which many have so failed as might well lead judi- 
cious thinkers to regard fictitious narrative as a wholly unsuit- 
able vehicle for religious truth, had not the Great Tcaclicr 
stamped legitimacy upon it by his own example. Hut our 
author is not more happy, and does not better consult the pccu- 
iiar tendencies of her mind, in the selection of this particular 
walk of literature, than in the choice of the historical epochs 
which her fictions arc designed to illustrate. She has an almost 
classic sympathy with the men and manners of that pregnant era 
in which Christianity rose upon the nations ; and it is no small 
praise to say that some of her delineations of the Roman mind, 
M modified by the reception of tlic gospel, remind us of the ten- 
■Icrncss and taste which adorn the pages of Mr. Lockhart's 

The epoch of the events described in the ' Martyrs of Carthage,' 
IS the reign of Sevcrus, embracing the close of the second and 
th« commencement of the third century. Its scenes are laid 
^loidsl the ruins of Carthage, the solitudes of African exile, and 
'no splendours of imperial Rome. The spread of the contagious 
herosy, confined to no age, sex, or rank, aflbrds a fertile field for 
""■■Writer's powers of invention and description. The persecuted 
^li exiled Koman matron — the undetected saint, at the head of 
t'le Prfetorian guards, on the magisterial bench, in charge of the 


prison, or in the humble condition of a domestic slave — ^the sub- 
terranean church, and the midnight sacraments — combine to 
give a pensive interest to the tale, and to soften the heart for 
the reception of its moral. 

The following is a general outline of the narrative. 
In the Roman colony which had been planted amidst the ruins 
of ancient Carthage, there was, as in most of the cities of Northern 
Africa, a considerable number of Christian believers ; this num- 
ber was much increased during the first years of the reign of the 
Roman Emperor Severus, by the cessation of that persecution 
which had heretofore restricted the publicity of Christian teach- 
ing. On the return of the emperor from the Parthian war, he 
spent a short time at Alexandria, and finding that here and 
elsewhere the Christian religion was rapidly spreading, he sanc- 
tioned the magistrates in a vigorous effort for its suppression, 
and left a corps of his soldiers to strengthen the hands of the civil 
power. The commander of this body was the son of the chief 
magistrate of Carthage, and was the more impatient of the delay 
thus occasioned to his return, from having left his newly 
married wife in that city four years before, who had given birth 
to a daughter a few months after his departure. During this 
interval, Marcella, a young Christian lady, was her frequent 
companion, and from her she first became acquainted with those 
doctrines and documents which she had been accustomed to 
regard with a vague and uninformed disgust. A scries of con- 
versations, which, of themselves, stamp a high value on the 
book, enlightened her ignorance, met her difficulties, and inttru- 
mentally subdued her heart. Meanwhile, the letters of her 
husband from Alexandria distressed her as much by the details 
of his effective persecution of the Church in that city, as they 
delighted her by the intelligence of his speedy return. At 
length he arrived on the very evening on which she had assumed 
the profession of Christianity by baptism. 

It was impossible that the mighty change which had passed 
upon her could long be concealed, consistently with fidelity on 
her part ; and a grand entertainment in celebration of the retam 
of the young hero, Marcus, led to a sudden denouement. One 
of the ceremonies connected with this festive occasion was, a 
solemn sacrifice to Minerva ; and in this it devolved on Vivia, the 
Christian convert, to take a leading part. At this crisis of her 
Christian profession she was found faithful, and to the conster* 
nation of husband, relatives, and guests, she openly denounced 
idolatry, and professed her faith in the Saviour. The result 
was, the passionate repudiation of her by her husband, and the 
immediate apprehension of herself and her little daughter, who 
had thus early embraced the faith. Both were arraigned before 


tbti civil tribunal, where, having witnessod a good confestiioiij and 
shonm themselves invulnerable alike to private, influence and to 
the threat of torture and death, they weic sentenced to banish- 
ment, llic mildest punishment which the law allowed. 

The plaee of her exile was an obscure village on the African 
coa&t. Here, after many weary months, her solitude was still 
further deepened by the death of hur only child, a part of the 
narrative which Mrs. Webb has elaborated with great pathos 
and beauty. At length Pagan bloodthirstiness itself began to be 
sated. The trials and executions constituted the chief business 
of m.tgiKtrates, aud still the blood of the martyrs was but the seed 
of the Church. At length the chief magistrate of Carthage 
resolved to send an embassy to his imperial masier at Rome, 
representing that this fierce persecution was rapidly depriving 
the community of its most blameless and useful members, with- 
out, in the slightest degree, retarding the spread of the new 
rel^on. Marcus, as being favourably known to the Emperor, 
by his services in the Asiatic campaign, was appointed as the 
tiLirtr '■■( rhf-c rcjircr.ciit;Uioii=. ;ind no sociici- iirrivid at tlio 
capital than he was promoted to a post of command in the I'ricto- 
rian guards. 

It was on the evening after a festival that Marcus, 

while returning home, encountcrt'd a drunken party of i'ra;- 

torian soldiers, pursuing a small bund of humbly attired pi rsons, 

who had just gained admission to a house, which was hastily 

opened to receive them ; the violence of the assailants soon 

forced the doors of the dwelling, and ibeir vindictive curses 

apprised the young soldier fhat tlie Chri-tians were the viclims 

of their resentment. The hi.Toic genllonfss with which an aged 

pastor and bis little flock resigned themselves to their mur- 

dviiiiis assailants, powerfully aflcctod the mind of Marcus, and 

tliscovoring himself as a Prffilorian officer, he speedily relieved 

the unarmed party of their invaders. This adventure led to 

fiirtlur intercourse, which resulted in the conversion of the 

I'wtoriau. Having obtained from the Emperor an edict staying 

llic saiii^uiuary persecution of his Christian subjects, Marcus 

returned to Africa, and speedily sought the scene of liis wife's 

<'sik'. They rt-turncd togi-lher to Cartilage, ami lor many 

y^ars enjoyed the bk'ssiiigs of their religion without the pains 

of ptrsecution. At length, however, the spirit of anticbristian 

'yraany revived with redoubled fury, and Marcus and Vivia 

*tre amongst the first to .seal with their blood the profession of 


Such are (he principal materials of a story which the author 
liiw m;u!e at once inleresling, pathetic, and instruetiw. 
Ainiiht much that has excited our iu(er<-sl and claimed a 
Vul., xwiu. " 


laudatory tribute in this tale, there are, nevertheless, a few things 
which will occasion to many readers both surprise and reeret. 
The first defect is one of taste. It has been held, and perhaps 
justly, by some of the ancients who philosophized upon tragedy, 
that it was adapted to purify the heart by the emotions of terror 
and pity ; but the earlier masters of dramatic art, with the singular 
exception, indeed, of Seneca, well knew that this effect was 
destroyed by too coarse and pungent an appeal to such emotions. 
Hence, Horace wisely banishes from the stage the visible repre- 
sentation of deeds of horror and bloodshed : — 

* Ne pueros coram populo Medea trucidct ; 
Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus.' 

Epist, ad Pisones, ver. 185, 186. 

This obvious canon of literary propriety Mrs. Webb most 
flagrantly violates. She brings before the reader all the horri- 
fying details of the rack and the stake, the foot-screw and the 
boiling pitch. Our author could scarcely have committed a 
mistake which would indicate a slighter acquaintance with the 
more latent mechanism of the human mind. We look for such 
revolting descriptions in the pages of Eugene Sue, and the 
scarcely less demoralizing revelations of Mr. Harrison Ains- 
worth ; but certainly not where the subject is religion, and 
the writer a Christian lady. That which it would injure the 
heart to witness, inflicts alike injury when brought before the 
imagination — and that in proportion to the vividness with which 
it is represented and realized. Nor are the moral sentiments 
more soiled and tainted by familiarity with the ultimate excesses 
of brutality and turpitude, than are the tender emotions when 
harrowed oy the presentation, with a sickening particularity 
of detail, of the last extremities of human anguish. 

But the work before us is chargeable with some defects of a 
graver kind. Mrs. Webb continually indicates so enlightened 
an appreciation of genuine spiritual religion, that we arc not 
a little surprised at some passages which have, we hope acci- 
dentally, fallen from her pen. For example, we cannot well 
reconcile with any system of morals with which we are acquainted 
such a passage as the following : — * Cruelty and ambition wcrd^ 
the besetting sins of Severus ; and his conduct towards his van- 
quished rivals, Albinus and Niger, has left a stain on his memory 
that all his conquests and all nis talents can never wipe out.** 
We never supposed that a man's talents had any power to atone 
for his vices ; and as to his conquests expiating his cruelty and 
injustice, a mementos reflection might have taught our author 

♦ Vol. ii. p. 10. 


that it is when acclimatized by conquest that these vices attain 
their rankest and most gigantic growth. 

With the notions we had been led to entertain of Mrs. Webb's 
theological views, we were surprised that the following stanzas, 
from the pen of Mr. Keble, had crept into her pages : — 

* What sparkles in that lurid flood 
Is water, by gross mortals eyed ; 
But seen by faith, 'tis blood 
Out of a dear Friend's side. 

A few calm words of faith and prayer, 

A few bright drops of holy dew, 
Shall work a wonder there 

Earth's charmers never knew.' — Vol. i. p. 116. 

We are surprised, we say, that, with her amount of knowledge 
of the religion of Christ, she can tolerate even a tasteful trans- 
lation (for it is nothing more) of the Popish mummery, which 
occurs in the service of the Anglican Church, for the public 
reception of infants who have been privately baptized. * Because,' 
the clergyman is instructed to say, ' some things essential to this 
sacrament may happen to be omitted, through fear or haste, in 
such times of extremity, therefore I demand further of you, 
With what matter was this child baptized ? With what words 
was this child baptized ? And,' adds the rubric, * if the minister 
shall find, by the answers of such as bring the child, that all 
things were done as they ought to be, (!) then shall not he 
christen the child again, but shall receive him as one of the 
flock of true Christian people, saying thus, " I certify you that 
in this case all is well done, and according unto due order, 
concerning the baptizing of this child, who, being born in original 
sin and in the wrath of God, is now, by the laver of regeneration 
in baptism, received into the number of the children of God and 
heirs of everlasting life." ' 

Mrs. Webb prepares us in her preface to expect some little 
irregularities in her performance. * The principal facts and 
events,' she says, * which are related in this story are for the 
most part historical ; and the trials and sufferings of the Christians 
are authentic. A few trifling anachronisms have, however, been 
wilfully committed.' The reader will judge whether such an 
explanation justifies the following description of a scene in a 
pure and persecuted Apostolic Church at the close of the second 
century : — * The appointed hour arrived, and Marcus and Vivia, 
attended by Camillus and the nurse and infant, proceeded to 
the church, where they found the sponsors and the rest of the 
congregation already assembled. The usual evening service 
was performed, and the baptismal ceremonies commenced. In 

o 2 


the name of the infant the sponsors pronounced the customary 
renunciations and vows, and then the requisite immersion took 
place.' If this is what our author calls * a trifling anachronism/ 
we must take most serious exception against her application of 
terms. An anachronism, indeed, it is ; but it is also something 
much worse. In representing the manner in which the peculiar 
truths of the Christian religion were pressed on the convictions 
of heathen inquirers, the writer evinces no inconsiderable know- 
ledge both of the letter and the application of Scripture. Why, 
then, has she not adduced the passages of Scripture by which 
intelligent Romans were reconciled to the hideous absurdity 
of godfathers and godmothers ? Why not mention some one 
passage which any ingenuity may torture into the remotest 
apparent reference to the practice ? We confess that when, after 
admiring in these touching characters the noblest candidates for 
the crown of martjnrdom, we found them represented as assisting 
at this wretched caricature of a sacrament, we felt the force of 
true bathos, the abrupt transition from the sublime to the ridicu- 
lous. With all her excellences, this lady has evidently yet to 
learn the truth, revealed alike by the study of history and the 
study of ourselves, that the human mind never was, and never 
can be, conquered by a system of faith that is built on the ruins 
of reason. 

Art. VII.— ^ History of the Romans under the Empire, By Charles 
Merivalc, B.D., late Fellow of St. John*8 College, Cambrid^. 
Vols. I. and II. London: Longman. 1850. 

Mr. Merivale is already known to the public, by a meritorious 
volume on the Augustan age, published in a very unpretending 
form, by a Society, whose work, in favour of Useful Knowledge, 
has reached its goal. He had intended to write the whole his- 
tory of Rome under the Empire, uniform with his first volume ; 
but being arrested, it seems, by the dissolution of the Society, he 
has been led to publish his history in handsomer volumes, worthy 
of the subject. Nevertheless, some readers will be disappointed 
to find that the 1083 pages before us, only carry us down to tho 
death of J ulius Caesar ; that is, do not even touch upon the real 
commencement of the Empire. ITie best part of another volume 
will probably be requisite before we reach the battle of Actium, 
from which his former work rightly started. Yet, if the execution 
of these volumes had satisfied our expectation and our detdres, 


we should not think of objecting to the title. We find it impos- 
sible to include in one article all that we need to say on the 
subject ; we propose, therefore, to reserve the career and charac- 
ter of Caesar to another occasion, and at present shall confine 
ourselves to other persons and things. 

The period here treated is one of deep interest, on which we 
have very numerous and full accounts, and in which a larger 
number of individual characters are fully developed to our 
knowledge, than in any other part of the Boman history, earlier 
or later. So abundant, indeed, is our information, that there 
might seem no room for diversity of opinion as to the real 
character of the principal actors. Do we indeed carry back 
party zeal into antiquity, and quarrel about Cato, Caesar, and 
Pompeius, as about Peel, Russell, and Cobden ? It is perplexing 
to answer. Respecting, as we do, Mr. Merivale's erudition and 
talents, it has been a painful mortification to us (especially after 
the high expectation which his former volume excited) to find 
ourselves in constant and irreconcileable collision with him as to 
the whole moral colouring of the history ; and yet we do not 
think him either fanaticauy wilful, as many Germans are, nor 
deficient in desire to observe historical justice. Having under- 
taken to review his book, we must not shrink from the unpleasant 
task of going into details where we think him wrong, although 
this is an inexhaustible topic ; for we should need to re-write a 
goodly proportion of his pages, before we could exterminate all 
tliat we think unjust, unwise, or untrue ; but he himself would 
desire us to oppose his views unceremoniously, provided that we 
do this only as lovers of truth. We presume that our opposition to 
him must, fundamentally, depend on a different value assigned to 
different authorities. It appears to us, that he believes far too 
readily Caesar's own representations of his own case, and Cicero's 
off-hand remarks as to men's motives ; that he gives too much 
credit to Dion Cassius, and far too little to Plutarch ; and neglects 
to estimate the moral character of the actors by the deliberate 
aim of their lives. 

Dion Cassius wrote the history of Rome in the Greek language, 
and his work in this whole period is complete. Its value to us 
is very great ; ^rst, because of its continuity and its chronologi- 
cal form, which furnish to us the framework into which we may 
interpolate all the scattered knowledge which we pick up from 
miscellaneous sources ; secondly, because Dion wrote when the 
old constitution was forgotten by the public, but when documents 
abounded by means of which it could be fully ascertained ; and 
as he had a clear head and an insight into the great importance 
of constitutional history, he explains to us in detail numerous 
things to which Cicero would barely have alluded. Appian dot s 

198 MERIVALK's history of the ROMANS 

the same service for us ; but more sparingly, and, it scorns, 
with less intelligence. Nevertheless, in regard to men's moral 
characters, Dion Cassius is very far from being trustworthy. 
Whether from misanthropy, or from a gloomy philosophy, or 
from an oppressive sense that Rome was siuKing deeper and 
deeper into a gulf of irremediable ruin, he takes the blackest 
interpretation of human conduct. From Dion, and from no one 
else, has Niebuhr learned the numerous assassinations and other 
dreadful crimes inflicted by the old patricians. As to the his- 
tory before us, most of the actors seem worse in Dion's pages 
than anywhere else; as, indeed, even Nero's badness is less 
relieved in Dion than in Tacitus. Professor Long has said, rather 
sharply, in one of his notes to Plutarch, that when Dion believes 
a man innocent, we may be pretty well sure he was really inno- 
cent ; since Dion believes every tning for the worst, about every 
body. It has been observed, that he is peculiarly suspicious of 
all pretenders to public virtue, and therefore is more unfavour- 
able to republicans like Cicero or Pompeius, than to a professed 
self-seeker like Cassar. Yet the only* occasion on which we 
have remarked Mr. Merivale to doubt the full guilt attributed 
by Dion, is, in regard to Cscsar's execution of the brave Gaulish 
chieftain, Vercingetorix, after six years' imprisonment ; an exe- 
cution which not one Roman general in a hundred would have 

Plutarch is a writer of exceedingly variable merit He did 
not understand the difl!crence of legendary and historical times, 
but writes with the same fluent assurance concerning Theseu» 
and Romulus, as concerning Cicero and Galba. Moreover, her 
is careless as to the minutiae of chronology. He follows the con- 
nexion of subjects, often neglecting to notice the exact time ^ 
and, in consequence of this habit, sometimes slips into errors o£ 
time himself. On these accounts, he is quite untrustworthy as^ 
to the obscurer periods of history, and has been greatly de- 
preciated by manjr reputable modem writers. Yet in fact, so^ 
long as he is dcahng with persons concerning whom there wass- 
abundant contemporary evidence accessible to him, no ancients 
author is more vahiable to us. His end in view was eminently 
moral. He did not seek to produce splendid pictures of external 
/greatness or beauty, or narratives of nations grouped into masses, 
or philosophic generalizations concerning history; but, on the 
contrary, he concerned himself with individual character, and 
endeavoured to ascertain and express this with peculiar accuracy. 

• Yes: twice more he disbelieves Dinn, when he Kpeaks against Cn^Mir : 
vol. ii. ]>p, 20.'J, 3S(). In the last case, Mr. Merivale coolly mvb, * the stor)* itM'lf 
will warn the reader of the hiMorian*r( imin nniry / * f>., Otrsar conm*/ have 
put to death his kintnian Lucius iiho |H'rNe\et(-d in hot*tility. 


Where, by reason of the sufficiency of documents, this mark 
was within the reach of human criticism, Plutarch's temperament 
admirably suited him to the undertaking. In him we see 
mildness of judgment, soundness of heart, total freedom from 
any bias of political party or national prejudice, warm sympathy 
with all that was eood in any one, and an inability to be 
carried into such enthusiastic love for any historical character as 
to be blind to its defects. We have from him lives of so many 
eminent persons of this era, that they make up a little history of 
it ; namely, Marius, Sulla, Lucullus, Sertorius, Crassus, Pom- 
peius, Cicero, Cato, M. Brutus, M. Antonius; and without 
claiming that all other writers must give way to Plutarch, in 
regard to the moral estimate to be formed of the characters, we 
may certainly demand that a historian who widely deviates from 
Plutarch's estimate shall be careful to assign convincing reasons. 

A third writer, of first-rate importance for these times, but 
much more difficult to use aright, is Cicero. His orations, like 
all other speeches of advocates, were not composed with a view 
to truth, except perhaps in those against Verrcs and Catilina ; 
they are often mere pleadings to obtain acquittal — ^invectives 
or panegyrics— which need careful criticism. His private 
letters are highly valuable for special facts ; but, in their colour- 
ing and ascription of motives, they are untrustworthy, from the 
writer's intense susceptibility ; moreover, they are the im- 
pressions of the moment, which may have been presently 
corrected by fuller knowledge. 

Suetonius has written the lives of the Caesars, of which the 
first only has place in the volumes before us. His life of Julius 
Caesar is not marked by anything that can be called spite. He 
tells his great qualities in strong, unshrinking language, and is 
equally downright in declaring his vices and crimes, but without 
dwelling or moralizing on them. But Suetonius was un- 
doubtedly a gossip, and loved to retail anecdotes ; for which 
reason Mr. Merivale seems to think he must discard the worst 
imputations which he makes against Ceesar, without noticing 
their extraordinarily strong confirmations. 

Other writers, of still less importance to us, are Appian (who 
is here generally superseded by Dion); Velleius Paterculus, 
who, as a courtier of Tiberius Csesar, dares not, or will not, 
speak so as to offend the imperial dynasty ; Asconius Pedianus, 
a most accurate and learned writer, but whose information is 
generally fragmentary ; lastly, Cfesar himself, or his substitute 
at the pen, whether Hirtius or Oppius, all of whom write with 
the express object of making out a case for Csesar, and per- 
petually display disingenuous art or distortion of view. Mr. 
Merivale, however, seems blind to this. Lucan also, though 

200 MERIVALE's history of the ROMANS 

a poet, may be mentioned among the sources of the history. 
Out of all these, to elaborate a single continuous narrative, as 
regards the dry outline of fact, was at first a problem of much 
diligence, which, however, has been encountered and achieved 
long since. But far more than this was done by Arnold, in his 
juvenile writings, published originally in the * Encyclopedia 
Metropolitana,' and since reprinted, in two volumes, with the 
title of the * Later Boman Commonwealth.' We had no idea 
how hard it is to surpass this work, until we read it side by side 
with Mr. Merivale's, which certainly seems to us immensely 
inferior to it. Not merely in discrimination of authority, and 
consequent justness of view concerning men, motives, and aims 
— ^which is the cardinal point of history — but in wisdom of 
reflection, energy of thought, definiteness and consistency of 
view, soundness in judging when to expand and when to 
contract the narrative, and power of impressing the imagina- 
tion — Arnold is, in our judgment, by far the superior. In 
comparison with him, Mr. Merivale is tame, weak, and dry ; 
nay, he seems often to be trjring to say something grand and 
wise, but in vain. We pen this sentence with regret; for it is 
easy to a reviewer to make the charge. In order, therefore, to 
diminish its force, if unjust, we will at once illustrate it by the 
very last passage we were reading. It is in vol. ii. p. 89 ; 
where, afVer narrating how Pompeius was taken by surprise in 
Italy by Cesar's invasion, the author adds : — 

* Such is the infatuation which seems generally to attend the counsels 
of a proud and dignified aristocracy assailed by a revolutionary leader. 
Wrapped in their own tranquil composure, they fail to take account of 
the contagiousness of an aggressive and lawless spirit. T^ey never 
make due allmvance for the restlensness and excitability of troops who 
have been debauched by a long career of plunder and power. They 
calctUate on the mere instruments of a selfish leader being at last dis- 
satisfied with their own unequal share in the combination, and on their 
willingness to secure their gains in turning against him. Rut the 
genius of the successful adventurer is chiefly shown in the ascendency 
he gains over his adherents, &c. . . .' 

The attempt to generalize seems to us here quite gratuitous, 
and almost absurd. Do then * revolutionary leaders ' generally 
succeed against ' proud and dignified aristocracies V The blind- 
ness of Pompeius was occasioned partly by the false information 
which Appius Claudius (who of all men seemed likely to know 
the truth), brought him as to the disaflfcction of Caesar's troops ; 
and partly by the enthusiastic movement of all Italy towards 
Pompeius during his sickness. Was then this blindness ascrib- 
ablo to certain tendencies inherent in aristocracies ? Or is it 
true, that Sulla, at the head of a ' proud and dignified aristocracy/ 


proved less able to calculate the temper of debauched soldiers 
than the * revolutionary leader ' Marius ? Or will Mr. Merivale 
tell us, that in that case Sulla was the * revolutionary leader V 
Altogether, the sentiments are out of place. Cato and the Marcelli, 
Lentulus and Scipio, did not ^ fail to take account of the con- 
tagiousness of an aggressive and lawless spirit.* On the contrary, 
Cato for eleven years back had distinctly seen the whole danger, 
and spoke out his convictions ; and for three years past the whole 
senate had been fearfully alive to the truth ; but the question 
then was, how, without civil war, to force Csesar to give up his 
armies, which rested on the ample basis of France, Lombardy, 
and lUyricum, and needed no supplies from without. In trying 
to solve this impossible problem, the aristocracy was exceedingly 
divided in opinion, no doubt ; but certainly it was not infatuated. 
At an earlier period, indeed, it was shortsighted as to Caesar's 
ultimate designs. That he could be planning anything so wicked 
as the annihilation of the republic, and the setting himself up as 
a despot on its ruins, they utterly refused to believe. No Roman 
had ever formed so impious and unnatural a scheme. Neither 
Marius, nor Sulla, nor Cinna, nor Carbo, dreamed of it ; even 
as to Catilina this was not believed. Such usurpers were looked 
on as passing hurricanes to the State, not as a permanent 
destruction to it, leaving nothing but Oriental despotism. The 
aristocracy were shortsighted in not seeing what Caesar's preetor- 
ship and consulship portended ; yet Cassar in turn was equally 
dull in not discerning that life to be held at his mercy would 
be unendurable to his own officers and friends ; who, when at 
last they comprehended his unprecedented treason to every thing 
that Roman hearts held dear, slew him in cold blood, and believed 
their deed to be eminently virtuous. 

Perhaps from giving too absolute attention to Dion's colour- 
ing, Mr. Merivale appears to us to overdraw the unrelieved 
wickedness of the Roman community. This we will illustrate 
in two important matters : as to the judicial trials, and as to 
foreign wars. 

Undoubtedly in Rome, as at Athens, the juryman thought he 
was at liberty to exercise (what we call) the royal prerogative 
of mercy in all political trials. Just as duelling has been in- 
veterately tolerated in our practical code, though our theoretic 
code forbids it ; so at Rome and Athens appeal to the compassion 
of a jury, by weeping relatives and other moving sights, was 
obstinately retained. But to admit this, — to admit, moreover, 
that powerful and wealthy criminals generally escaped, by the 
joint influence of skilful advocacy, favour, intimidation, and cor- 
ruption, is 7iot to admit that there was no care for justice at all. 
Intlccd, from a phenomenon of Gate's life the contrary inference 

202 merivale's history of the Romans 

may be drawn. Cato^ we learn, was a great puzzle to guilty 
men, when he was on a jury ; for if the accused retained Cato as 
a juror, Cato influenced the rest to his condemnation; but if he 
objected to Cato's name, it was regarded by the jury as a proof 
that he was conscious of guilt ; since Cato was notoriously so 
fair, that no innocent man had anything to fear from him. Hence 
the jury were supposed likely to condemn the culprit. — This 
certainly implies, that the jurors meant well on the whole, but 
were apt to be misled by the cleverness of the advocate, unless 
they had a vigorous, clear, and impartial mind, like Cato's, to 
guide them through the tangle of evidence. 

The celebrated case of Milo is detailed with great fulness and 
accuracy by Asconius. He was condemned, in a picked jury of 
exemplary reputation, by a majority of 38 against 13, because it 
was ascertained that, though Clodius had been the assailant, and 
Milo unprepared, yet, after Clodius was severely wounded, Milo 
despatched him, under the idea that he could now safely venture 
upon it. Yet the Csesarians, to throw odium on Pompeius, pre- 
tended that it was his overwhelming power, not Milo's own 
guilt, which led to the sentence ; and Mr. Merivale propagates 
diis gratuitous scandal in his second volume (p. 49*), after 
giving the other natural and sufficient narrative in his first. 

In the trials of Gabinius — whatever money was spent in 
bribery — there is nothing to suggest that the verdicts were not 
such as the very best juries would have given. He was first 
impeached for majestaSy or treason — an antiquated charge, 
which every jury would have been slow to affirm. He replied, 
that the act which was impeached (viz., his restoration of King 
Ftolemy) was for the benefit of the State, was necessary against 
the fleet of Archelaus and the pirates, and justifiable by a 
certain law. Roman officers were accustomed to exercise so 
large discretion, that we cannot be surprised at his acquittal by 
a narrow majority. In a second trial he was accused of embezzle- 
ment, and was condemned, with great decisiveness and by a 
large majority, in spite of the utmost exertions of Fompcius and 
the eloquence of Cicero. This appears, prima facicy to be 
creditable to the juries. But Dion says, that Gabinius's first 
acquittal had exhausted his power of bribing ; so, in the second, 

* ' Pompeius nereuaded his friends that the desertion of Milo, of ttkate 
popiUarity with h\$ party and unreserved devotion to them he wemjeahmt^ was 
a necesiiary sacrifice to appearances.' Then, in a foot-note: — 'I'omneius 
vretendeti to believe that Milu had plotted against his life/ — Ascon. in Mil. 67. 
Velleius, ii. 47 : ' Milonem reum non mnciH invidia facti, quam roni|>eii 
damnavit voluntas.' This, however, in only a party-Kurmise; and A^eonius 
does not blame P()m{)eiu8, but leaves tlie whole alleged plot in its umn 


the jury had no motive supplied to them adequate to resist the 
popular outcry. Mr. Merivale softens this, but still leaves the 
juries in discredit. 

In regard to warSy the Romans had a crooked and super- 
stitious, yet a deeply-seated, conscientiousness. From the early 
times of the monarchy, war was proclaimed with religious cere- 
monies by the heralds-at-arms, through their mouthpiece, the 
pater patratus ; and religion forbade the war unless there had 
been a valid provocation. The rule was often kept to the letter, 
and most treacherously violated in the substance ; nevertheless, 
unless the Romans had a plausible pretext, their religious horror 
was deeply excited at commencing an aggressive war. Several 
instances of this occur, which Mr. Merivale seems to us but 
partially to understand. 

The war of Gabinius against Egypt was just now alluded to. 
It was undertaken to restore an oppressive king, who had been 
driven out by his subjects — a quarrel with which the Romans 
had no rightful concern. The conscience of the nation was 
offended at the first mention of it ; so that when the tribune, 
Caius Cato, brought to the notice of the people some Sibylline 
versicles (probably fabricated for the occasion), in which the 
Romans were ordered to receive with friendship a suppliant 
Egyptian king, but not to give him military aid, all Rome was 
deeply agitated— ^nor did the Senate venture to breathe a sus- 
picion against the genuineness of the sacred utterance. This 
is not to be confounded with vulgar and unmeaning superstition. 
The people could not have been thus affected, unless a deep and 
moral cause had pre-existed. From wholly omitting to notice 
this, Mr. Merivale gives a superficial and uninstructive view of the 
entire transaction, as mere squabbling for office and empty folly. 

Again, the war of Crassus against the Parthians was every 
way gratuitous. No cause of war existed, no war had been 
declared ; yet it was notorious that he was leaving Rome with 
the fixed intention of engaging in it. Hence the deep and 
bitter feeling spread among tne people. Hence the awfiil 
imprecations on his undertaking, by the half-fanatical tribune 
Ateius. But Mr. Merivale here, as in the former case, can see 
nothing but political party and mean personalities. 

Lastly, the attack made by Cato in the Senate upon Caesar, 
for his dreadful massacre* of some German tribes, is regarded 
by Mr. Merivale as an * extravagant misrepresentation of justice,' 

• Plutarch (Cato Utic. 51) says, that 'Ccesar appeared to have destroyed 
300,000 persons in time of tntccJ In Caesar, 22, he reckons the Germans as 
400,000, and notices that Caesar casts on them the charge of treachery. 
Mr. Merivale infers from Ceesar^s narrative the truth of Caesar'* s repre- 
scnt<iiion I 

20i MERIVALE's history of the ROMANS 

and a mark that Cato was * blinded by political animosity.' 
Canusius (according to Plutarch) related that, * when the Senate 
was decreeing feasts and sacrifices for the victory, Cato gave it 
as his opinion, that they ought to deliver up Cscsar to the barba- 
rians, in order to clear the state from the guilt of perfidy, and 
turn the curse upon the guilty person.' There is no ground 
for questioning that this was Cato's deliberate judgment ; and 
so eminently fair a judge was he, that in all probability he was 
right, and Ca?sar had committed a gross violation of received 
national law. Why should a historian regard no motive but 
* bitterness ' and * political animosity ' as possible ? If other 
Romans had no conscience, will he not admit that Cato had one ? 
Moreover, Plutarch (our sole authority for this fact) despatches 
it in the single sentence above quoted. It does not appear that 
Cato did more than barely utter this opinion; but Merivale 
leaves the reader with the impression that he made a solemn 
eflfort to carry it into execution. 

One who does not rightly understand the view taken by the 
Romans of the liberty of advocacy, cannot judge fairly many of 
the characters in this history. A future age will, perhaps, look 
back with amazement on our English morality, which supposes 
the advocacy of a bad cause to be justified by the acceptance of 
money. Such was not the Roman view. A fee for advocacy 
was essentially dishonourable with all strict moralists, and was 
forbidden by a well-known law (Cincia Lex de Muneribus). But 
to gratify political hostility or political friendship, was with them 
an honourable ground for accusing or defending, with no 
greater regard to the moral merits of the case than is felt by an 
English barrister. To overlook this, and to judge of Cicero (for 
instance) by the English rule of morality, is unfair. We must 
either judge him by a Roman rule, and Englishmen by the 
English rule^ or else we must judge them all by a more severe 
abstract law; not condemn him by our own conventionality. 
From this point of view Cicero's defence of Gabinius is to be 
regarded. His great fear was^ lest he should be thought to have 
been won by Gabinius's money. Considering what had been 
Gabinius's personal offences against Cicero, and Cicero's public 
affronts to him in retaliation, to compromise such an enmity for 
money appeared an eternal disgrace. But to do this as an act 
of friendship* to Pompeius (if he could but obtain belief that 
this was the motive), was not disgraceful. So as to his defence 
of Vatinius, a man whom he despised and disliked. He puts it 
on the ground, on the one hand, that Pompeius earnestly desired 

* Merivale derides this motive ; but Plutarch 5{H'akit so strongly of the 
ditficulty of refuKing a reijuest to roii]|>eius, that it is euMV to understand the 
|H>wer of hiH entreaty to so susceptible a mind as Cii*ero*s. 



it; on the other, that, since various noble persons chose to 
foster P. Clodius to his vexation, he found it convenient to 
foster P. Vatinius to their vexation. As to his having praised 
Vatinius, he replies to Lentulus (i. 9), * Remember to what sort 
of persons you have sent praise from the ends of the earth.' If, 
indeed, Cicero had defended Catilinay it would have been 
abusing the Roman advocate's license unendurably ; but at most 
this was a passing thought, and it is not certain that the letter is 
genuine* which contains it. Mr. Merivale is more favourable on 
the whole to Cicero than to any one else but Catilina and 
Caesar ; yet, while intending to be fair, he seems to us often to 
fail of doing him justice. 

Peculiarly does he seem to have mistaken the nature of 
Fonteius's cause, for upholding which he vehemently condemns 
Cicero : — 

' Fonteius continued to exercise the functions of governor, and 
organized throughout the country (Narbonne), a system of tyranny 
which may be sufficiently appreciatea, even from the pleadings of Cicero 
in its defence. The orator makes no attempt to refute the charges of 
avarice and extortion brought against his client, otnertvise than by con^ 
temptuously rejecting the credibility of any testimony of a Gaul agaimit a 
Roman. Cicero's speech is, indeed, a more instructive exposition of 
the horrors of provincial suffering than any detail of particular charges 
could be. The contumelious indifference which it breathes to the rights 
of a foreign subject, implies much more than a consciousness of the 
guilt of the accused. It shows how frightfully the mind, even of a 
philosopher, could be warped by national prejudice and the pride of 
dominion,* &c. — Vol. i. p. 241. 

We rejoice, and sympathize, in the manly and humane spirit 
which has dictated this invective ; yet we do not think it is 
rightly directed against Cicero. Fonteius appears to us to have 
been oppressive, not for his own gains or passions, but soleljr in 
the public service. The times were hard : Sertorius had driven 
Pompeius to winter in Gaul : many of the towns there had pre- 
viously been in Sertorius's interest, and had been reduced by 
Pompeius with dreadful slaughter of the Gauls {Gallorum inter- 

• The letter is, Ad Atticum, i. 2. But it contains anachronisms. It is 
dated from the consulship of Ccesar and Figulus (B.C. 64), though the trial 
of Catiline was begun and ended in the consulship of Torquatus (B. c. 65). 
It ends by bidding Atticus to * be at Rome in January* to aid in his canvass ; 
viz., for the next midsummer election. This sounds unnatural, if he wrote 
in January, as he must have done. His mention of Catiline as his competitor, 
which he could not be until he was acquitted, is also suspicious. Mr. Dyer, 
in vol. iii. p. 60, of the * Classical Museum,' rejects the whole letter as 

206 merivale's history of the Romans 

necione) : — Mr. Merivalc himself notices these facts. The 
province, already exhausted, had to maintain a great army 
through the winter, and probably to refit it for the next cam- 
paign. This could not be done without severe pressure on the 
people, and Fonteius, as governor, had to give the official 
directions. For many arbitrary and violent proceedings the 
Gauls accused him in Itome ; but Cicero and Fompeius, and all 
other Romans, felt it cruel to visit on Fonteius the injustice of 
which Some had reaped the benefit, and which was (if a crime) 
strictly a national crime. Accordingly, all the Romans and 
Roman colonies in the province gave high praise to Fonteius ; 
and Cicero asks, whether he can be really guilty, when only Gauh 
accuse htm, and all Romans defend him. (Ihis has been mis- 
understood by Mr. Merivale.) We should compare the trial of 
Fonteius to that of Warren Hastings. A Gaulish tribunal might 
have justly condemned the former, an Indian tribunal the latter : 
but for Rome to punish Fonteius, or Britain Warren Hastings, 
would have been hypocrisy and cruelty^ alike useless and absurd. 
As to the remark, that Cicero does not try to refute certain 
charges, the speech which we have is only a fragment, so that no 
argument from omission is valid. 

Cicero's first great enemy, Catilina, has found an advocate in 
Professor Drumann. Mr. Merivale does not go so far, yet he 
evidently is desirous of lightening his case. The argument 
stands thus. Cicero is not to be believed, for he was Catilina's 
enemy ; nor Sallustius, for he likes to rcvUe the aristocracy ; nor 
any later writer 8, for they probably drew from these two sources: 
hence, we have no evidence adequate to convince us of facts so 
startling as those deposed concerning Catilina. — But such in- 
credulity is quite gratuitous. It is a certain fact, that Catilina 
organized a formidable army of most desperate men, which 
inflicted immense slaughter before it could be destroyed. It is 
also certain that eighteen or nineteen years before, he was a 
ruthless murderer in the times of Lucius Sulla ; and that at this 
time he was bankrupt in fortune and reputation. What impro- 
bability then is there in the plot ascribed to him ? We see none: 
but let us hear Mr. Merivale : — 

' We must acknowledge that the character of Sallastiut's mind, an 
disclosed in his narrative, was totally deficient in any deep insight into 

the views and motives of his contemporaries While the stains 

upon his own character made him feel a base pleasure in exposing the 
vices of the times, and especially of the class which had declared him 
unworthy of its countenance, the sketch which he has given ns is it- 
markahle chiefly for its impotent display of events without causes^ the 
worthlcssncss of which, as a historical monument, is scarcely disguised 


by the terseness of its diction, and the brilliancy of its imagery.'* . . . 
' It is certainly a reasonable objection to the view that Cicero gives us 
of the imminence of a revolution, that he represents his enemy as too 
notorious a viUain to be really dangerous to any constituted yovemrnent.^'^^ 
lb. p. 87. 

Mr. Merivale, nevertheless, believes that the danger was 
really great, but that the vices of Catilina are overdrawn. 

If so, if Sallustius gives us no adequate causes of danger, how 
does this solution furnish us with new causes ? Whether Cati- 
lina was a little more or a little less vicious, seems to be politi- 
cally unimportant. In unchastity he is not said to have exceeded 
Caesar or Sulla, or, perhaps, even P. Clodius. In cold-blooded 
cruelty we need not suppose him worse than Sulla or either of 
the Marii, or than Damasippus, Cinna, or Carbo. In spending 
money, he is allowed to have been as open-handed as Caesar, and 
in bravery he was unsurpassed. Altogether, we find nothing 
here to move suspicion. As to his being ' dangerous to a constu 
tuted government,' there is fallacy in the vague epithet consti- 
tuted. The existing government at Rome was founded on 
proscription and massacre. The sons of the proscribed were 
still in exile — their adherents and friends were numerous. The 
men who had been ejected from their lands to make way for 
Sulla's legions, were a large mass of reactionaries; and the 
legionaries themselves, though a large part were now old men, 
having sold their farms and spent the proceeds, wanted a new 
revolution to enrich them. How then can Mr. Merivale say 
that Sallustius displays ^ events without causes ? ' Finally, it is 
perfectly gratuitous in him to assume, that all the later writers 
drew from Sallustius or Cicero. They must have had abundant 
documents before them ; yet, one and all, they entirely agree 
concerning Catilina, his party and his plot. There is no character 
in Roman history concerning whom there is a more complete 
unanimity. Nor can we see anything in Sallustius's position to 
tempt him to unfairness. As a fierce partisan of Clodius, and 
an oflScer of Cajsar, he might, on the contrary, have been led to 
disparage Cicero, and lighten the crimes of Catilina ; especially 
as Clodius had compromised with Catilina after impeaching him, 
and Caesar gave abundant proof of sympathy with the Catilina- 
rians. For these reasons, the evidence of Sallustius against 
Catilina seems to us peculiaily decisive. 

We fear that we shall seem contentious in avowing, that, 
except perhaps Q. Catulus, there is not a single leading political 

• It would never occur to us to ascribe to Sallust * brilliancy of imagery.' 
Mr. Merivale afterwards speaks of Sallustius as not rich. We had always 
understood that his celebrated ^rdens were a proof of his immense wealtn, 
which, in fact, descended to Sallustius, the minister of Tiberius. 

208 merivale's history of the Romans 

personage whose portraiture in these volumes satisfies us. 
Lucullus is too favourably painted in his Asiatic campaign, too 
unfavourably after his return. While he is in Asia, Mr. Men vale 
can see nothing in him but an excellent financier, a humane 
governor, an able general, — sadly vexed by mutinous troops, by 
revenue-farmers balked of their expected exactions^ and by the 
intrigues of Pompeiu8*8 party. One little fact is omitted— that 
this Lucullus, who would not divide spoil to his army, though 
he forced them to winter in tents — who kept both the soldiers 
and the revenue-farmers from the wealth which they coveted — 
himself managed to amass * a colossal fortune. Here lay the 
whole secret of mutiny and discontent in Asia; here lay the 
strength of Pompey's friends, when they claimed to send him 
out as a successor. His pride of manner also alienated his 
soldiers. But when Lucullus had returned to Rome, he was in 
declining years and tired of politics ; his temper also was mild 
and amiable. We do not see that he is to be reproved for 
' sloth^' because he chose to withdraw from a scene of conflict, 
which every year became ruder and fiercer. Ponds of tame fish 
were more harmless than modern game preserves^ and splendid 
gardens not more censurable than glasshouses for tropical forests. 
Elegant luxury is by no means the worst use of ill-gotten wealth. 
The character of M. Crassus is drawn by Mr. Merivale as one 
of pure avarice and coarse selfishness. No reader would guess 
that Crassus was exceedingly afiable even to the vulgar, — 
generous, as well as speculatmg with money, — a most xezaj and 
eloquent speaker, whose advocacy was little inferior to that of 
Cicero, and was freely at the service of all his friends with the 
least possible preparation, — and that the majesty of his person 
and address was very remarkable. His military talents were 
proved in the war against Spartacus ; and it is not fair to forget 
this, though, in his old age — blinded by eagerness to equal 
Csesar's warlike glory, and supposing the Parthians to be not 
more formidable than the troops of Mithridatcs, or Darius Code- 
manuus — he led the Roman armies to a miserable fate. But 
here we must express our great surprise that Mr. Merivale should 
speak of the * prevailing mediocrity of talent * in Crassus's con* 

* Mr. Merivale sets the reader on a wrong scent, by saying (vol. i. p. 61), 
' Lucullus is accused of avarice ; and it may givt ttmie colour to ths ckwrpe^ 
that he condescended to accept another anpointment in Thrace^ instead of rfr- 
tuming at once, and asserting his natural position in Uome.' 

Cicero feared to add tlie name, but the commentators do not hesitate to 
apply his remark to Lucullus (Pro Lege Manilia* 13, §37) : * How can we rate 
a general highly, in whose anny the post of centurion is sold ? Can any one 
form noble schemes for the State, trAo, when he ha$ received mont^ out of the 
treasury /or the terrice of the war^ th'etributee it to the magietratee in order |i> 
gain reapjwinttnent to his pnpvinct\ or deponits it at Rome to ^t the itttereti P 


temporaries. If we had been asked, in what period Rome con- 
tained the greatest constellation of various and eminent talent, 
we should unhesitatingly have fixed on this very time. Among 
the bad, as well as among the better citizens, this is very con- 
spicuous. Catilina and Clodius, Curio and M. Antonius, were 
all men of superior mental powers. The times, indeed, were such, 
as to give an immense premium to eloquence and decision, dis- 
cernment of character, pliancy, knowledge of law, of business, 
and of the constitution, especially when combined with military 
experience and skill. 

The portraiture of Cato by Mr. Merivale is still more un- 
favourable, and, as we are satisfied, quite unjust. We cannot 
expect full agreement in these matters; but we think that a 
historian ought either to confine himself to the facts, and let them 
speak for themselves, or else he ought to justify his representa- 
tions. But Mr. Merivale perpetually colours the transactions 
from having made up his mind that pride, animosity, adherence 
to antique formality, pedantry, elaborate affectation, scholastic 
formalism, &c., were intense in Cato. We believe all of this to 
be a clear mistake, and that Cato was simply a moral enthusiast. 
No one will learn from Mr. Merivale even a small portion of 
the excellence of this greatest moral phenomenon among the 
statesmen of republican Rome ; whose only parallel, perhaps, is 
to be found in the emperor Marcus Aurelius. He proposed to 
himself the noble problem of carrying into public life all the 
scrupulous conscientiousness which in private conduct was 
esteemed and approved ; and for doing this earnestly, he was, 
and is, called pedantic, untractable, morose, and bitter. The 
ways of the great world were in many respects reproved by each 
man's conscience ; yet no one but Cato refused to bow in idolatry 
to them. His first necessary offence to the vulgar, was, in re- 
fusing to put on at an election the fawning and false grimaces, 
which were all to be laid aside as soon as the wished-for appoint- 
ment was gained. Cato did not desire honour for himself ; only 
to serve his country did he seek for office at all. He was the 
same man before and after an election ; at all times simple and 
accessible, never fawning and unmanly. He alone refused in 
canvassing to get the aid of a slave who knew everyone's name. 
The Romans were unaccustomed to all this, and called it pride. 
What ! should others cringe to them, clasp them, perhaps kiss 
them ; and should Cato scorn to pay the same homage ? Did 
not others give them treats and bribes, and should Cato refuse 
them such indulgences ? Who was this wise young man, to set 
himself up as a model ? — All the aristocracy felt that his conduct 
was a severe reproof to them, and he at once gained universal 
dislike. Nevertheless, as soon as he was actually put to the 


210 MERIVALE's history of the ROMANS 

proof, he won over many who had been displeased. As quaestor, 
he brought the finances into excellent order, forced all the sub- 
ordinates to renounce peculation, paid all the debts of the state, 
called-in its outstanding claims, and exhibited that * the treasury 
might be rich without injustice,' if the quaestors did their duty. 
All credit and praise he freely shared with his colleagues, all 
odium he took on himself alone ; so that they before long found 
it a great comfort, that they could refuse to do dirty jobs for 
their friends, being always able to reply that ' Cato would be 
certain to hinder them.' His most courageous deed as quaestor, 
however, was, to force all the assassins of the proscribed to 
refund the sums of 12,000 drachmas, which Lucius Sulla had 
paid them for every head they brought him. How the money 
was got out of them, thirteen or fourteen years after it was paid, 
is hard to imagine ; but this proceeding of Cato was so much 
praised, that Caius Caesar discerned that he also might get 
credit by calling the assassins to justice. As juryman, we have 
already alluded to Cato's integrity, which was liable to no bias 
for or agaiTist an accused person. On no occasion would he act 
as accuser or defender, from any grounds but those of moral 
conviction ; nor is there any instance, except perhaps * that of 
Milo, where we have reason to believe that he took the wrong 
side. He conducted his accusation of Muraena with sucn 
honourable simplicity, as to win ever after Mursena's esteem and 
confidence. Nor was Cato's aversion to bribery accompanied 
by any thing morose. When he superintended the public 
games for one of his friends, he made every thing merry and 
pleasant to the people at the smallest expense ; ^ave pleasure 
and gained popularity, without violating his own strict principles. 
The intense attachment which he not only felt towards bis only 
brother, but excited in all his soldiers when he was a military 
tribune, testifies to his freedom from every thing petty, selfish, 
proud, and misanthropic. 

Such a character would be more than human, if it bad not its 
defects. In boyhood, he had a premature gravity, sadness, and 
intensity of concentration. While still a very young man, he 
became priest of Apollo, and it is probable that this deepened 
his enthusiasm to become a moral reformer. He immediately 
still farther simplified his expenditure, and used his ample 
fortune upon every body rather than himself. In travelling, he 
went on toot himself, but allowed horses to his freedmen as well 

* Cato was strongly favourable to Milo, and applauded him for the death 
of Clodius. But it is not likely that all the facts of his death had then been 
established. It was notorious that Clodius had been the agpessor, and had 
the larger band of gladiators ; and that Milo's band was strictly a defence to 
quiet men, whom Clodius would have many timet murdered. 


as to his friends. His dress was cheap, and dull coloured ; which 
was intended as a protest against the pomp and luxury of the 
great. Towards the deposed king of Egypt, who came to ask 
his advice, he behaved with no more ceremony than to any other 
poor man. This conduct ought not to be judged of from our 
point of view, accustomed as we are to (what Greeks or Romans 
would have called), an Oriental homage of kings; but if we 
would judge fairly of Cato, we ought to ask how would an 
Elisha or an Isaiah have demeaned himself to a fugitive king 
of Egypt ? Yet Cato behaved to him with real friendship, and 
gave him excellent advice, which the king afterwards much 
regretted that he had not followed. 

The ' defence of Clodius's tribunate ' ascribed to Cato, is a 
simple mistake. (We cannot now find a certain passage, in 
which, we think, Mr. Merivale, like others, has reproved this.) 
Cato was perfectly right in demanding that the acts of a de facto 
magistrate should not be invalidated by a flaw in his appoint- 
ment; otherwise endless confusion and injustice would result. 
Cicero was here carried into a monstrous extreme by personal 
resentment, and Cato rightly opposed him. Cato's principle of 
carrying private morality into public lifcy led him farther into 
the conduct 'which is so sharply reproved by Plutarch — of re- 
fusing to wear the splendid robes of magistracy when he was 
praetor. Neither do we commend this ; but to call it affectation 
and pride is to mistake his whole character. As well may this 
be said of George Fox, or of John the Baptist. Such eccentri- 
cities were but outer sparklings from the great life of enthusiasm* 
that burnt within ; which fused his commonest and smallest 
doings into a homogeneous result, and produced one of the rarest 
spectacles in history — a public man forgetful of self, guided 
solely by his best perceptions of virtue, and animated by an 
omnipotent will to abide by the decisions of his conscience. To 
develop such a character as Cato to a reader of Roman annals, 
would seem to us far more important than the heart-sickening 
conquests detailed in what Mr. Merivale well calls the most frigid 
of military histories — the Gallic war of Caesar. 

• Of such a character, it is odd (and may excite some mirth) to learn, that 
he gradually became very fond of wine ; so that his enemies said, he spent 
whole nights in drinking. Plutarch acknowledges the fact, but does not 
seem to admit that Cato was ever drunken. One may suspect, that his ex- 
tremely hardy habits, constant exercise, and life in the open air, with his 
frequent immense exertions (for he would speak for a whole day together, 
ana encounter all the noise and violence of a hired rabble), admitted, and 
almost required, an amount of wine, which to others would have caused 
drunkenness. Such a habit may also have added to his exacerbation of manner ; 
yet there is no mark that this grew worse with age. He was harsh and stern 
while business was going on, relaxed and kind the moment it was finished. 

P 2 


Such is the man against whom, after his death, Csesar wrote 
his scurrilous books called Anti-Catones ; and was not ashamed 
to accuse him of sifting the ashes of his brother in hope of scrap- 
ing a little gold out of them, and of selling his wife Marcia to 
the rich Hortensius for the reversion of his estate ! But Plutarch 
well observes, that to accuse Cato of avarice, was like * calling 
Hercules a coward.' It did but show the impotence of malig- 
nity in the accuser, who ' thought that his pen was as irrespon- 
sible as his sword.' 

But we now approach the most disagreeable part of our task, 
which is, to arraign Mr. Mcrivale's calumnious aspersions on the 
great Pompeius ; a man whom, in spite of all his faults, we still 
admire and love. And, first, we shall extract passages from Mr. 
Merivale against him, which, if just, would justify all the other 
vituperation of him : — 

* Great as Pompeius was, it was a cardinal defect in bis cbarmcter, 
that he failed to keep his principal end in view. . . . llie consequence 
was, that he failed to acquire any moral ascendency over his associates. 
His virtues were sobriety and moderation, and these he possessed in 
an eminent degree. But ... no man was so constantly deceived m ike 
persons whom he selected for his instruments : they discovered his weak- 
nesses, and shook off the yoke of his condescension. The disiance which 
he affected in his intercourse with those about him, arose, perhaps, 
/rom natural coldness, but more, perhaps, from his own distrust of hb 
power over them. . . . Nor can it be disguised that this coldness and 
reserve had been known by their usual fruits (!), in an earfy career of 
remorseless cruelty and inveterate dissimulation. The nobles who jAtw- 
dered at the idea of Pompeius assuming the powers of the dictatorship, 
well knew the school in which he had been brought up, and the proofs 
he had given of having imbibed its lessons. He had Itched the sword of 
Sulla : and as with young tigers who have once tasted blood, tbcy couki 
never be assured that his thirst was sated. He fcas himeeff another 
Marius or Sulla, no better, only more disguised. Under the orders of the 
dictator, he had shed the best blood of Rome, and had been branded with 
the title of the young hangman. He had put to death a Carbo, a Brutus, 
a Scipio jEmilianus ; nor had he ever evinced any symptom of com^ 
passion or clemency. His word was not to be trusted : he was capable of 
disowning his own commands, &c. . . . 

* From the moment of his return, he was casting his eyes around him 
to find creatures who might further his ocntlt ends. ... In these in* 
trigues he was singularly unfortunate. When he divorced his wifo 
Mucia, he had^ perhaps, already in view the formation of an advaMta^eoms 
alliance. He proposed, it was said, to connect himself with the family 
of Cato ; with whose character and position he must, if so, have been 
f:trangely unacquainted. [!] The overture was rejected with disdain. In 
Cicero, indeed, he found a willing flatterer, and with him be carried on 
a long course of dissimulation and cajolery, which was transparent to 
every one except its object.' — lb, p. 185. 


* Crassus was aiming, like Pompeius, ai the exasperation of the public 

dissensions Pompeius, least of all men, knew how to make an 

overture of reconciliation. It was in these circumstances that he was 
dLsposed to invite Ccesar to his counsels* — Ih, p. 188. 

As a literary curiosity, we will quote, in contrast, from 
Arnold's summary of Pompeius's character : — 

* The tears that were shed for Pompey were not only those of domes- 
tic affliction ; his fate called forth a more general and honourable 
mourning. No man had ever gained, at so early an age, the affections 
of his countrymen ; none had enjoyed them so largely, or preserved 
them so long with so little interruption. . . . He entered upon public 
life as a distinguished member of an oppressed party which was just 
arriving at its hour of triumph and retaliation ; he saw his associates 
plunged in rapine and massacre, hut he preserved himself pure from the 
contagion of their crimes, . . . He endeavoured to mitigate the evils 
of their ascendency, by restoring to the commons of Rome, on the 
earliest opportunity, the most important of those privileges and liber- 
ties which they had lost under the tyranny of their late master. He 
received the due reward of his honest patriotism, in the unusual 
honours and trusts that were conferred upon him ; hut his greatness 
could not corrupt his virtue : and the boundless powers with which he 
was repeatedly invested, he wielded with the highest ahiliig and upright^ 
nets to the accomplishment of his task, and then, without any undue 
attempts to prolong their duration, he honestly resigned them. At a 
period of general cruelty and extortion towards the enemies and sub- 
jects of the Commonwealth, the character of Pompey, in his foreign 
commands, was marked by its humanity and spotless integrity. His 
conquest of the pirates was effected with wonderful rapidity, and 
cemented by a merciful policy ^ which, instead of taking vengeance for the 
past, accomplished the prevention of evil for the future. His presence 
in Asia . . . was no less a relief to the provinces from the tyranny of 
their governors, than it was their protection against the arms of the 
enemy.' — ^Vol. i. p. 540. 

Arnold then proceeds to confess that Pompeius's connexion 
with Caesar afterwards involved him in a career of difficulty, 
mortification, and shame; but no sooner had he broken loose 
from Cajsar, than he was again, by universal confession, the 
natural and fit protector of the laws and liberties of his country. 

Now since Mr. Merivale, in his Preface, declares that he would 
not have thought of writing this history, if Arnold had lived to 
extend his maturer work, we think he was bound to give to the 
public some explanation of this intensely opposite view of Pom- 
peius. No one., in fact, could imagine that Arnold and Merivale 
are speaking of the same man. 

We must take the counts one by one. 

1. Was Pompeius cold-hearted, false, and proud? Hear 
some testimony in reply : — 

214 MERIVALE's history OV the ROMANS 

* Towards Pompeius the Roman people seem to have been disposed, 
from the very first, just as the Prometheus of ,^chylus towards his 
deliverer Hercules, when he says : — 

** Though hateful is the sire, most dear to me the son : * 

for neither did the Romans ever display hatred so violent and 
savage towards any commander, as towards Strabo, the &ther of Pom- 
peius, . . . nor, on the other hand, did any other Roman, besides 
Pompeius, ever receive from the people tokens of affection so strong or 
so early, or which grew so rapidly with his good fortune, or abitUd with 
him 80 firmly in his reverses. The cause of their hatred to the father 
was his insatiable avarice : the causes of their affection to the son 
were many ; his temperate life, his practice in arms, the persumaiveneM 
of his speech, the integrity of his character^ and his affabHiiy to every 
man who came in his way ; so that there was no man from whom omoihiar 
could ask a favour with so little pain, and no man whose requests amUhmr 
would more willingly labour to satisfy, For^ in addUion to his other 
endearing qualities, Pompeius could give without seeming to oomfwr m 
favour, and he could receive with dignity.' — Plutarch^ Pomp, 1. 

Mr.Merivalc is fond of calling Pompcy ^a crafty dissembler* (a 
phrase justly applied by Appian to Csesar), but it may rather be 
believed that too great impiUsiveness was his natural character. 
This was first shown in his canvassing for Lepidos against the 
judgment of Sulla; and more pleasingly in his canyass for 
Crassus : — 

* Crassus, though the richest of all who were engaged in public life, 
and the most powerful speaker and the greatest man, and though he 
thought himself above Pompeius and every body else, did not venture 
to become a candidate for the consulship, till he had applied to Pom- 
peius. Pompeius, indeed, was well pleased with this ; as he had long 
wished to have an opportunity of doing same service atid friendly act to 
Crassus. Accordingly, he readily accepted the advances of Crassus, 
and in his address to the people he declared that he should be as grate^ 
fill to them for his colleague, as for the cofisulship. However, when 

they were elected consuls, they differed about every thing^ and came into 
collision : in the Senate, Crassus had more weight, but among the people 
the influence of Pompeius was great.' — Plutarch, Pomp. 22. 

This little story gives, in brief, the cause of Fompeius*8 failure 
in civil life. He was too generous and impulsive^ and thus got 
entangled into positions from which there was no honourable 
retreat. After his fatal coalition with so cool-headed and long- 
scheming a man as Caesar, lie lost his independence, and was 
driven into the greatest act of meanness he ever committed — ^tbe 
surrender of Cicero to his enemy Clodius. 

It appears, however, to us, to be contrary to all evidence and 
all probability, that Mr. Merivide represents Pompeius as full of 
spite against Cicero when he returned from Asia, and calls 
P. (y*lodius the upstart crrature of Pomimus. The proud 


patrician would probably have said, that he was Pompeius*8 
patron ; and so Plutarch regarded it. We do not find any 
evidence oflTered to us, that Ponipeius ever planned to use 
Clodius as his tool : but Caesar did ; and this seems to be Mr. 
Merivale*8 error, in saying that Pompeius was ' constandy 
deceived in his instruments ;' t.^., he chooses to regard P. Clodius 
as an instrument of Pompeius, and then censures Pompeius for 
selecting his creature so ill. 
2. Was Pompeius cruel ? 

* Now, as to those enemies of Sulla who were of the greatest note 
and were openly taken, Pompeius of necessity punished them ; but 
OB to the resty he allowed as many as he could to escape detection, and he 
even aided some in getting away. Pompeius had determined to punish 
the inhabitants of Himera, which had sided with the enemy; but 
Sthenis, the popular leader, told Pompeius that he would not do right 
if he let the guilty man escape and punish the innocent ones. On 
Pompey asking who '' the guilty man *' was, Sthenis replied, it was 
himself; for he had persuaded those citizens who were his friends, and 
forced those who were his enemies. Pompeius admiring the hold 
speech and spirit of the many pardmied him first, and then all the rest. 
Hearing that his soldiers were committing excesses on the march, he 
put a seal on their swords, and he who broke the seal was punished.* — 
Ih. p. 10. 

' As Pompeius treated mercifully some of the piratical crews, .... 
the rest, entertaining good hopes, endeavoured to get out of the way of 
the other officers, and coming to Pompeius, they put themselves into 
his hands with their children and wives. But he spared all ; and it 
was chiefly through their assistance that he tracked out and caught 
those who still lurked in concealment, as being conscious that they had 
committed unpardonable crimes. 

' . . . The war was ended ... in no more than three months. 
Pompeius received by surrender many ships, and among them ninety 
with brazen beaks. The pirates, who amounted to more than 20,000, 
he never thought of putting to death ; but . . . Ae determined to transfer 
them to the londfrom the sea, and to let them taste a quiet life, &c. . . . 
To the greater part he gave, as their residence, Dyme, in Achaia, which 
was then without inhabitants, and had much good land. 

' Crete was a second source of pirates, and next to Cilicia ; and 
Metellus^ having caught many of them in the island, took them prisoners, 
and put them to death. Those who still survived, and were blockaded, 
sent a suppliant message, and invited Pompeius to the island, as being 
a part of his government. Pompeius accepted the invitation, and wrote 
to Metellus to forbid his continuing the war, &c.' — Ih. 27 — 29. 

It was because of his ^ mild and gentle disposition^ that 
Tigranes surrendered freely to him ; and by reason of Pompeius's 
own * virtue and mildness,' the provinces patiently endured 
various extortions from unworthy subordinates (Plut. Pomp. 39). 

But what is to be said to Mr. Merivale's formidable proof of 

216 MERTVALE's history of the ROMANS 

Pompey's cruelty, that * he had shed the best blood of Rome . . . 
a Carbo, a Brutus, a Scipio -Smilianus V We reply — all these 
men met their death most justly. Carbo is described by Plu- 
tarch as a ^ still more furious tyrant than Cinna ' (Pomp. 6), and 
there can be no doubt that he bore a full responsibiUty in the 
Marian massacre of b. c. 87. Pompeius abhorred him for his 
crimes, and had him put to death as a thing of course, when he 
had made him a prisoner of war. 

With regard to the other two persons, the circumstances of 
the insurrection of ^milius Lepidus need to be considered. 
M. ^milius was a partisan of Sulla, who began to talk boldly of 
reaction. Pompeius felt so strong an interest in him, that he 
canvassed for him, to Sulla's great disgust, and obtained his 
election to the consulate. When we consider that the very first 
act of Pompeius, as soon as he stepped into civil power, was to 
repeal some of the aristocratic laws of Sulla, and conciliate the 
depressed faction, we can hardly be wrong in judging that 
^milius had won Pompeius's support, by promising that he 
would soften the harshest of Sulla's enactments, and heal the 
wounds of the state. Instead of this, he plunged into a frnatical 
extreme, used the powers of his office to bring about a new 
convulsion, and in the next year broke out into actual civil war. 
Never was there a more causeless and more treacherous insur- 
rection. If jErailius and all his partisans had been slaughtered 
in mass, no one could have wondered. He himself, however, 
died of vexation (it is said) ; his lieutenant, Brutus, was put to 
death by Pompeius ; and likewise (if Mr. Merivale is correct), 
Scipio jEmilianus, the son of Lepidus. We do not know on 
what authority this rests : Orosius states barelv that he was 
' caught and slain.' He had, as his father, fought in this most 
guilty war ; and his execution (if by the general's order) implied 
no cruelty in Pompeius. Indeed, the great mildness of this victory 
is universally remarked upon. So dangerous and exasperating 
an attempt was atoned for by two or three lives. For the death of 
Brutus indeed, who had surrendered, Plutarch blames Pompeius ; 
but he seems to suspect that he was betrayed by his army. The 
probability is, that Brutus did surrender, in appearance volun- 
tarily ; but that Pompeius, afterwards discovering that he had 
known his men were about to betray him, did not think this 
compulsory surrender entitled him to mercy. Concerning the 
son of Lepidus, there is no breath of disapprobation agaiut»t 
Pompeius in Plutarch ; who clearly thinks the soU ground of 
mercy to Brutus lay in his surrender having been toluntary. 

Such is the * remorseless cruelty' of this * young hangman,* 
who had ' licked the sword of Sulla.' It fills us with shame and 
indignation to write such words concerning the noble Pompeius. 


As to • the dread of the aristocracy, lest Pompeius should become 
dictator,' Mr. Merivale totally misinterprets it. They dreaded 
lest a»if one al all should become dictator ; but least of all, lest 
Fompey : nay, Bibulug, who had long been Pompey'a dogged 
opponent, volunteered to propose, that, since a temporary des- 
potism was necessary, the Senate should mitke him ' sole consul,' 
in order that they might become ' slaves to the best man atnong 
them.' His motion, to the general surprise, was seconded by 
Cato. (Plut. Pomp. 54.) 

But oh ! how gricTonsly does Mr, Merivale suppress or ex- 
plain away all the moral excellences of Pompeiua ! This great 
man was as chaste and tender a husband, as Caesar was noto- 
rioQBly unchaste : and Mr. Merivale attributes it to the coldness 
of his nature .' Coldness ! the courtezan Flora would have told 

B another tale (Plut, Pomp. 18). Such was Pompeiua'a fear of 
jft his power was uncontrolled, that he assumed an 
I etiffiiess, which was thought unkind, towards the 
jeaulifiil widow of fiis favourite frccdman Demctrin?;. 
1 Asia, towards the illustrious beauties in the h:uTm of Mithri- 
dates, he behaved as a brother anxious for their honour, and sent 
them all back to theii kinsfolk. Yet, in his absence from Rome, 
' his wife Mucia had been seduced. "While Pompeius was at a 
distance, he treated the report with contempt ; but when he had 
come to Italy, and had examined the charge more deliberately, as 
it seems, he sent her notice of divorce ; though neither then nor 
afterwards did he say why he had put her away.' (Plut. Pomp. 
42.) — Cicero announcing the fact to his friend Atticus, says; 
' The divorce of Stucia is exccedhiij/i/ npprored of ;^ which shows 
that her guilt was notorious. It was the fi.xcd opinion (says 
Suetonius, Caisar, 50), that Ca;sar was her paramour ; and we do 
not know why Mr. Merivale should disdain to imagine the possi- 
bility of it, when in vague, but strong terms he allows, but pal- 
liates, Caisar's heartless dissoluteness. A\'e howevei' do complain 
that he libels Pompeius in this matter, by suggesiing that he 
divorced a blameless wile In order to sfreiujthen hhnxelf htj a hiyh 
aiU'ince t and was so stupid, as to oHcnd two great families by 
divorcing Mucia — sister of a Mctcllus, and daughter of a Sca;- 
vola — in order to effect an intermarriage with the family of Cato ! 
The refusal of his overtures by Cato was an act of self-denial 
most lamentable to Konic, No event could have been iiappicr 
than such an alliance, wjiich Pompeius was induced to desire 
from his warm admiration of Cato, Put Cato saw in it only a 
=nare to his virtue, and drove Pompeius to seek ihc palionage of 
Ciesar and Clodius, in order to get his nets in Asia confinncil. 

But wc were proceeding to say, that Pompeius, now in middle 

218 MKHIVALE's history of the ROMANS 

life> attracted the enthusiastic love of two very young wives in 
succession ; fii'st, of Julia^ the daughter of Csesar, and^ after her 
death, of Cornelia, the widow of youn^ Publius Crassus. His 
devoted attachment to them both was looked upon as almost a 
fault by the Romans ; and this is the man whom Mr. Merivale 
calls cold-hearted, and too cold in temperament to have been 
unchaste ! 

But his total freedom from avarice, his ' sanctity,' and his 
great forbearance in the provinces, are not to be omitted. 
Space forces us to be satisfied with one splendid enlogium 
from Cicero :— 

*• Who knows not what calamity our armies carry everywhere with 
them, by reason of the avarice of the commanders } More cities of 
our enemies are not destroyed by the weapons of our troops, than states 
of our allies by their wintering. Do we wonder that Pompeius so 
excels all other men, when his legions, passing through Asia, left no 
trace of mischief on any peaceable person } In their winter quarters, 
not only is no one cofnpelied^ hu4 no one^ who even teUhea it^ is aUowed to 
incur expenses /or his soldiers. The swiftness of his career is not due to 
new winds or miraculous oars ; but it is because no avarice can bait 
him, no intrigue can seduce him, no pleasure can divert him. While 
others carry off by violence the beautiful statutes and pictures of 
Greece, Pompeius refuses to set his eyes on them. Men therefore 
in those parts look on him as one sent down from heaven, and at 
length believe that there once did exist self-restraint in Roman generals. 
His Jidelity to his engagements is accounted sacred by enemies of every 
nation ; and his humanity is such, that it is hard to say whether com- 
batants more fear his valour, or the conquered more love his mildness.* — 
Pro Lege Manilia, sec. 38, 8fc. 

All this would have been a bitter satire if Mr. Merivale's 
account of Pompeius's character were not totally and diame- 
trically false. 

It is sickening to read Mr. Merivale's perpetual tale of Pom- 
peius's jealousy, dissimulation, intrigue, cratt, desire to embroil 
affairs, unscrupulousness, yet irresolution in seizing power, with 
his gratuitous comparisons of him to Sulla. We allow and 
deplore that during the whole period of his union tcith Ctesar 
he acted foolishly and basely ; basely towards Cicero, foolishly 
towards others. ])ut neither is this union rightly explained by 
Mr. Merivale. W^hcn Pompeius was returning from the Mithn- 
datic war, the report of Catilina's formidable plot made him 
desire to be employed on the side of the state to suppress this 
new danger ; and ne sent Mctellus Nepos to Rome, in order to 
promote this end. 'rhere was nothing reprehensible in this. 
MetcUus, however, acted with extreme violence, and was 


thwarted ouly by equal violence on the pait of Cato and another 
Iribone. But Pompeiue, on learning thai Catilina was alain, and 
the war finished, behaved with such admirable moderation and 
fidelity, that (as Mr. Merivale admitfi),8uch men as LucuUus, Hor- 
tensiua, Bibultis, and their whole party, only despised him for it ; 
and hence his misfortunes. He could not get his acts confirmed, 
or his soldiers revrarded ; and until the former object was attained, 
min impended over him. Thus he was against his will forced 
into dishonourable alUaaces. 

When Pompeius had broken loose from CEesar, his conduct 
was not indeed such as Cato could applaud, but neither docs it 
seem to deserve tlie censure bestowed upon it. He exerted 
himself vigorously to put down violence in Rome. He disarmed 
the gladiatorial bands, by which his life, as that of Cicero and of 
many others, had been often threatened. He held the public 
tiials, and passed many useful laws. He is derided, indeed, as 
the ' breaker of his own laws,' because he tried to shelter his 
father-jn-law Scipjo and liis friend Planrn? ; a wcaknosF^ of which 
every man in Rome except Cato would Jiave been equally guilty. 
As to the exception in his own favour, by which he was to be 
allowed to hold Spain for five years, we entirely justify it. 
Fompeius Magnus was an exceptive man. He, and only he, 
had laid down supreme power voluntarily, when the temptation 
to keep it would have been irresistible to meaner souls. The 
conduct of Cffisar showed that he was dangerous to the state — 
Pompeius was notoriously ?iot dangerous. To this infinite chasm 
between the two men, Mr. Merivale is ulterly blind, and repeats 
as truth the parrot-cry of Cfcsnr, that the whole question lay 
between Pompeius anil him. Nay, but between the state and 
Casar. While Pompeius retained oflice, the state could always 
rally to one who had been proved, and iiiiiiht he trusted. If he 
had' not exempted himself from his own' law, the ^tate would 
have had no chance ;igain»t CiEsar',-> armies. And, it: faet, the 
fault of I'ompeius was tlie very opposite — that he was foo shto 
to arm against lliis fatal danger. 

It makes us indignant when Mr. Jlerivalc so often contrasts 
Pompeius unfavourably to .Sulla or to Cicsar, in his shrinking 
from large aiul decisive measutes — in his want of comprehen- 
siveness of viewi aud vigour in execution. What else does, or 
can, this mean, (hau that Pompeius did not choose to overthrow 
the liberties of his country under pretence of reform ; and knew 
that no evil in detail was so gieat as the destruction of the 
institutions, out of which all the eminence of Rome had sprung ? 
JUcanse he would not become an un™crupulous and audacious 
usurper, lie is taunted with not knowing the u«e of power, and 
not daring to execute his hid.len designs. HiU he had „» hidden 

220 sheppakd's three essays. 

designs. He desired to serve his country^ publicly and honour- 
ably, not to subvert it. 

Pompeius the Great^ on whom the last hopes of Roman freedom 
turned, perhaps could not have materially benefited the empire, if 
he had been victorious. We murmur not against Providence for 
his fall ; nevertheless we honour and mourn over his virtues^ as 
far beyond those of any other general of antiquity, celebrated so 
early in life, and so long eminently prosperous. 

Art. VIII. — Three Essays : The Reunion and Recognition of Christians 
in the Life to come — The right Love of Creatures and of the CreaUnr-^ 
Christian Conversation, By John Sheppard, Author of * Thoughts 
on Private Devotion,' &c. London : Jackson and Walford. 

We welcome this little volume with pleasure, as a return of the 
respected author to themes more congenial to his powers than 
those which have lately occupied his pen. His ' Christian Con- 
solations,' and ' Thoughts on Private Devotion,' have long been 
highly and deservedly valued, by a large class of refined and 
sensitive minds. For ministering to such a class of minds^ Mr. 
Shcppard's peculiar cast of thought and expression give him 
remarkable fitness. A rougher and more masculine energy 
would shock, a more theological and doctrinal presentation of 
truth would repel them; more philosophical and wider gene- 
ralizations would leave them unaffected ; but the appeals, pointed 
and direct, yet always winning and persuasive, the illustrations, 
always elegant, and often forcible, with which his writings 
abound, lay hold of and detain them. Our religious literature 
has no better example of the force of gentleness. We remember 
to have heard his productions described as those of a female 
Foster. There is, indeed, much similarity in the freshness and 
originality of his thoughts to those of his illustrious friend. 
The rough marled strength of the one is, however, in the other 
supplanted by an almost feminine grace and delicacy. The one 
grapples with and holds you as m the grasp of a giant ; the 
other detains you as surely, but it is by the gentle hand and loving 
touch of woman. The one is the grip of Ajax, the other the 
embrace of Andromache ; and many, as Hector, struggle in the 
former but yield to the latter. It has been, therefore, with 
regret that we have seen the author's later efforts, we will not 

bhkppahd's three kssays. 221 

gay wasted, but at least unprofitably directed, to ephemeral pro- 
ductions and uncongenial tbcmcs ; and it is witji equal satis- 
faction that we welcome his return to subjects which he is eo 
admirably and peculiarly fitted to discuss. 

The first and longest of these essays is devoted to a considera- 
tioo of ' the reunion and recognition of Christians in the life to 
come ;' a subject of profound and universal interest, yet one 
which has received little attention in our literature. Except a 
volumo by Mr, Mustou, we know of nothing specially directed 
to an investigation of this question ; and there can be no stronger 

Cofof the interest felt in this inquiry, tlian the fact, that a 
k diluted to the utmost degree of feebleness, spun out to the 
farthest extent of attenuation, as is Mr, Muston's, should have 
w)ne through four or five editions. Nor is this interest unnatural. 
How eagerly is every scrap of information concerning the various 
districts of colonization caught up and devoured by those whose 
relatives and friends hare emigrated, and especi^y if the in- 
q\iir<.T he in the prospect of speedily following.' llieir (xample. 
and rejoining them in their new home. Minulifc which would 
otherwise be disregarded as too trivial for a moment's thought, 
are anxiously inquired into and remembered. And should a 
suspicion be breathed that our former friends, in their present 
prosperity, have forgotten us, and wiil greet us on our arrival 
with no welcome, nor even recognise our once Aimiliar faces, 
with what anxiety and solicitude should we inquire into the 
grounds for such a notion! llow changed would our feelings 
be toward that land, which lud the power thus to alter them, 
until the suspicion had been removed, and the aspei^sion cleared 
away ! Mlio has not lost a friend .' To whom is not that ' land 
that is very far off' an object of profoundest interest, seeing that 
the friends he once loved on earth now ducll there ? A\']io doirs 
not hope ' to see that land ' himself, and tli^it on his tomb, as on 
Albert Durer's, ' cmigravit ' shall be inscribed ! To cacli one, 
then, every inquiry into its modes of life and eujoyment must 
be a pleasing theme. How much more interesting when the 
sti-picion is breathed that our former friends have forgotten us — 
will fail to recognise and welcome us! Tlio decision of this 
question seems necessary to our full enjoyment of the consola- 
tions which even the assurance of immortality can imparl. It 
i^ something to know that our departed friends still live, and 
are still happy. But this belief can do little to console, if we 
regard them as dead to us, and lost for ever. How cheerless 
comparatively would be the prospect of our own decease, and 
the hopes of our own immortality, if we expect to enter the 
hravenly country as utter straugejs, and to spend eternity in 
loneliness and isolation ! AViih^ what dillVrent feelings should 

■ :li.l'l'\un S THKEK KSSAYS. 

li vicparturr, if we had the convictioTi thnt 

.i\c rni'*tiled us await cur coming with oar 

.4 !'\iuy 10 bid us welcome, and to h\id U5 by 

.. ; i .i lite up to the throne of (iod! The rem 

. tlic spirits of the just made perfect is thi-r 

. ....!ii- no mere theoretical disquisition, but on 

:iin.'»t. We therefore deem this admin 

.....;-*iv' U'luisition to our religious literature. 

. ;..c\.l by a preliminary eha])trr, desisirnec 

. - 1 .1 future life is inseparably involve* 

'. :: :'.i!nent is lUfjeniouslv conceived 

.. • : •■'..• whole, satisfactory, tlioucrh 

.'■• ■.•!nit'« will only permit a britf st 

• ^ - uUa, it is united, which anv i 

'\:\ is. that his attributes of Avisd 

' ■.><olutelv infinite, do vet imnu n 

^ -.v. the creature. Now, every n 

" ."^'.ly prolong, perpetuate, and ] 

■.<< et* ]\U fellow-men, if it weri 

■ :'s ilosire and pr.iytT for the n 

. v^ ■•.'..■. if.-.mtutal. The ellort of « \ 

- ..- ::>. ro. dilation to tht^se wi> 

. . s.':^ aim of whoso livi<, 

, . ' . ■• /^' A^b.ose hearts, have Iuhi 

.'-. tV-tm^lves and their fill 

: ■..- i ii.uor will not i^ arc 

» c ■/. *r.di avours, is to assumt-, v'\\ 

• ; .•v'n !.ii:h«*>t dcstinv has i)rt'sir 

.':•..'»!. having presrnted itsi If 

' s »/:t.dity; or, that being will 

••.:st supposition is, of ciuirs« 

• ^ .i!ul absurd. A\*e are then 
... . ••• n ference to moral ivil — * . 

-.kI non vidt.' That h«» eanno 
'. .vl :h.iu the oni' alnadv n'lec 
• '.itrd the human mind, 
•■ J.illicultv than dors treat 

• breath of life, e.m. if it ph 
•u' brief limits of thrt'e k 
■*-: supposition is, that he 

... \\ .ulmit that the brnevoh- 

' that <»f the human phil 

:\ter and I*:iul, antl tho l< 

.V. •utyr>, above Him * wli< 

.,.v ' It is to asstrt that w 

,».'»••.. I If whf» is aloni- abl 


unwilling to grant, that he will not do for his cliildren that 
which their brethren ailer the flesh have striven to secure. Thia 
is surely little better than atheism and idolatry strangely coni' 
biued, for it is to deny to God that supremacy in all moral per- 
fections which alone entitles him to our adoration, and at the 
same lime to elevate mortals to the vacant shrine, It is hero- 
worship, such as no race of idolaters ever yet practised. They 
revered in the hero a manifestation of the Deity ; this is to aet the 
Christian hero above God himself. 

The very obvious difficulty in the way of this, and indeed of 
all arguments from the perfections of God, is, the existence of 
nornJ evil. The presence of this difficulty in acknowledged, and 
putiaily met, by our author ; but we thiuk he scarcely admita 
iU full force, norquite succeeds in disposing of it. His reply is, 
that for aught we know, the permission of moral evil may be 
. BMBPtinl in a scheme of true optimism ; partial evil may work 
' eat aniversal good. A denier of future hfe might, however, 
urso in roplv, tlint jiivl n« wfll mav the cxlinction of llie Immnn 
im[ in (kalli b.^ essential to the ends of universal benevolence ; 
the negation of partial good being as neccS'Sary as the permission 
of partial evil. It must be admitted, however, that to deny the 
reality of a future life, is not only lo throw an additional diffi- 
culty in the way of a true theism, but is, at the same time, to 
! deprive us of the only means of disposing of the difficulty already 
I existing. If immortal life be admitted, 'then infinite room is 
left for the rectification of all evils, and the working out of an 
incomparable overplus of goodness and felicity ; but the denial of 
a future life annihilates tliis,' It thus aggravates the difficulty 
of the existing evil, and brings in the additionnl difficulty in- 
volved in the denial of the perpetuation and perfection of 
present good. 

AVhatcvcr value, however, this discussion may possess, wo 
submit that it is out of place here, unconnected as' it is with the 
main subject. The essay would be improved by its excision, 
aod it might, with advantage, be expanded into an independent 
argument. We would suggest, as a very suitable and important 
Jtibslitution for it, a prelimiiiarv chapter, inquiring where ihe 
burden of proof lies in the discussion of this question. On whom 
does the onus rest— -on the asscrtors or the denicrs of recogni- 
tion ? It appears to us very manifestly to rest upon those who 
denv, so that in the absence of disproof we arc bound to hold the 
affirmative. The continuance of personal identity in the next 
bfe is-of coarse admitted by all. The future life is but an ex- 
Eension, a prolongation, of the present. Immortality is but the 
projection of my present being into clernity. The probability 
then is, that I shall caiTy into eternity the capabilities of 

224 sheppard's three essays. 

recognition which I possess here. The opposite theory involves 
the mutilation of mind — ^the destrnction of some of its most im- 
portant faculties. For the fact of this mutilation and destruction, 
we demand proof. In the admitted fact of personal identity, 
there is aprtmd facte case made out in favour of recognition. 
It devolves, then, not upon those who maintain to prove, but 
upon those who deny to disprove. In the absence of any 
attempt at disproof, we have warrant in admitting the doctrine 
as true. 

This primd facie case is immensely stren^hened if we 
remember what identity involves. It is impossible to conceive 
of the continuity and identity of conscious existence where 
there is utter oblivion of the past. Without going the length 
of some metaphysicians, in affirming that memory and identity 
arc but different phases of the same fact, yet surely the latter 
must involve the former. Identity must include a continued 
consciousness of the past ; that is to say, must include memory. 
We shall, then, assuredly carry with us into the future re- 
miniscences of the present ; ana when we reflect how large a 
portion of our present spiritual existence is connected with oar 
friends and associates, we are inevitably led to the conclusion 
that they must remember us, and we must remember them. 

If this needs further proof, we find it in the fact of moral 
government. All who admit the reality of a future life, admit 
that the present and the future bear to one another the rclation- 
sliip of probation and retribution ; so that our condition there 
will be but the development of our condition here. Now it is 
difficult, or even impossible, to conceive how there can be 
retribution where there is oblivion — how the present can be 
rewarded or punished unless it be at the same time remembered 
— how eternity can be developed from time unless lime be 
remembered in ctcTnity. And this proof amounts to demonstra- 
tion when we reflect that in God's government retribution is 
chiefly made by grateful or remorseful remembrances. There 
must then be self-recognition, and the clear, full remembrance 
of the events of this life. This being so, we say that it devolvee 
upon the denier of recognition to explain and prove the non- 
recognition of otiiers ; and to adduce evidence that so extnor- 
dinary and unprecedented an act in the Divine government thaU 
take place, as the obliteration of one class of reminiscences and 
the perpetuation of others. Until this be done or attempted, 
we maintain that the direct argument in proof is logically 

To this direct argument we now turn. Mr. Sheppard, in the 
first place, directs attention to the presumptive evidence in support 
of this opinion furnished by the universal belief of the heathen 

ahspfard's thh'ee bssats. SS6 

world. He furnishes a most imporUmt and valuable indoction of 
paaxngcs, drawn from all quailcra ; and eIiows that the belief of 
reunion and recognition has been as widely diffused, and as 
Srmly held,as the belief of a future life itself. Orators, poets, 
and philosophers, alike testify to this conviction. The whole 
GcJd of classical antiquity is ranged over in proof of their hopes 
of *an auspicious day, when, escaping from the mob and rabble 
of earth, Uiey shall join the banquet and council of departed 
frirnde and heavenly spirits." ITie Chinese, Hindoos, and 
Persians, are shown to coincide in tbeae buliefa ; and, descending 
Btili in the social scale, the mythologies and funereal rites of the 
rudest barbarians are adduced to prove that they too indulge the 
«Mne cheering conviction. The induction of evidence proves 
that there is, perhaps, no moral truth which more nearly fulfils 
Uje conditions requisite to give it the authority of ' universal 
consent,' ' that it be held always, everywhere, and by all.' 
'Una in re consensio, omnium gentium, lex natura; putanda est-' 
(Cic. 1 Tusc. Ques.) 

To T.\iU sutci^riU' the scriplur.d Lii;,"iiiHiit. V,' r rtgrtt tliul 
want of space forbids our quoting any of the passages adduced 
by Mr. Shcppard, with his comments upon them. AVe call 
altcntion, however, to the exquisite precision with which he 
sometimes gives a new rendering of a passage, indicative of fine 
scholarship and intimate acquaintance witli New Testament 
idioms. We must content ourselves with presenting his sum- 
mary of the whole chapter : — 

' It has been thus, I think, ampl)- evinced from the Christian Scrip- 
ture— Ist. that our Saviour' .s purpose was to form a society ; 2iully, 
thii he oriKinatcd with and between them (lie mo.-t real of relations ; 
3riily, that tlic intimacy of it is described Ijy llie very strongest com- 
parisons wc can imagine ; -Ithiy, that the local asscmbliiiR of this wliolo 
ooticty at his coming is clearly promised ; and, 5thly, not less so their 
everlasting abode with cncji other and with him. We have seen, 
Cthlj. that the references to these subjects in the Old TL^stiiment, 
iiowever sli;;ht and brief, are yet in agreement with llie pro-^pcets MJiith 
a later revelation opens. It has hecii shown, "ihly. tliat not only is a 
Kciprocal symji.illiy of love and joy between Chrisliuns in tliis life 
botli rcccrdtJ and strongly enjoined in the Xcw 'i'e^iiiment. lint also 
the expectation of this same happv synipiithv in tlie liti; ti> ciniie : and, 
Sthly, that the renewal of especial ■■cuninmnidn." by some Jnyful an.l 
eialted modification of that commenioralive social rite which iiur Ke- 
deemer instituted, appears to he matter of promise.' — I'p. 60, (i I. 

The redeemed in heaven are thus seen to form a community 
of individuals who had been intimately associated dorin- the 
most critical portion of their history — tlie term of their proha- 

VoL. XXVIII. 11 


226 sheppard's three essays. 

tion ; and who, during that period, had influenced one another's 
spiritual interests by mutual action and reaction. Those in- 
fluences are vividly and gratefully remembered by each indivi- 
dual in the community, and form the great theme of devotion, 
in a world where devotion is the great business of existi^nce. 
Now, is it credible or conceivable that, with this intimate 
communion and individual remembrance, there should be no 
recognition ? Shall we bury these grateful reminiscences 
in our own hearts, and communicate them to none of our as- 
sociates ? Remembering the friend or pastor whose words 
decided our religious character, is it possible that we should be 
distinctly conscious that he is near us, and yet no recognition 
take place ? Would not such a restriction limit the happiness 
of heaven, and be inconsistent with the perfect union of thought 
and feeling which exist there ? We ask yet further, Is it credi- 
ble that an eternity of communion should pass away without 
recognition ? Even supposing that at first our friends should be 
lost in the indistinguishable throng of that 'great multitude 
which no man can number ;' yet still that number will be less 
than infinite, and the duration of intercourse will be infinite. 
We shall have eternity in which to range. And who shall say 
that in the discoveries and developments of that eternity, we 
shall not find ourselves bound, by hidden and mysterious ties, to 
every member of that redeemed family— each indebted to alU 
and all to each — no individual isolated and unconnected, but all 
united in indissoluble bonds of mutual gratitude and obligation ; 
to use the magnificent language of Milton, ' progressing tnrough 
the dateless and irrevoluble circle of eternity, shall clasp in- 
separable hands, with joy and bliss, in over-measure for ever.' 

Various other arguments and illustrations may be urged, at 
which, however, we can only glance. Illustrious men are con- 
stantly alluded to — ^Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Moses and 
Elias, and the Twelve Apostles — as forming part of that society, 
and as adding, by their presence, to its happiness. 'To sit 
down with them,' is often used as a synonyme for entering 
heaven. But this surely implies that they shall be known and 

Again, the transactions of the judgment and the publicity of 
its proceedings intimate the same trutii. The individual and all 
his acts are to be brought prominently and publicly forward. 
The kind word and deed, the cup of cold water, the prison visit, 
the sympathetic tear, rendered to the disciple, are to be acknow- 
ledged and honoured by the judge. And must not the disciple 
who was the immediate object of the charity, recognise tlie 
benefactor too? This surely implies recognition on the very 
widest and grandest scale. 

sheppahd's thhee essays. 227 

Again, the fact of angelic ministry must involve in it rccogni' 
tion. There is joy in heaven among the angels over the 
sinner as he relents and turns to God. He at once becomes 
an, object of their solicttoua care and ministry ; they attend him 
throaeUout his course, and have ' charge coQCerning him lest he 
dash his foot against a stone.' Surely their interest in him does 
not cpajje at the very moment their labours are crowned with 
anccess. If they rejoice when he repents, they can scarcely bo 
silent when they escort him to glory ; they can hardly ' minister 
to biro an entrance among the saints in light,' and then at once 
and for ever dismiss him from tbeir thoughts. 

Bat what, we hasten to ask, are the reasons which excite 
incredulity as to a doctrine so accordant with reason and revela- 
tion ! Evidence crowds in upon us from all sides, in proof that 
the aflections of earth will he consummated and perpetuated in 
hearen. What counter-evidence is there? As far as we arc 
awnre. there is no single passage in the word of God which 
can be shown to be in the elightest degree discordant with it. 
There is no fact of our experience or consciousness inconsistent 
with it — all are in its favour, Tlie only objection which has any 
weight, is, ' that the anxious and fruitless search for friends, who 
have come short of heaven, or the dreadful information as to 
their absence, which may preclude that search, could not but be 
a fearful subtraction from the happiness of loving and tender 

Now in the first place, this objection throughout is mere 
assumption and conjecture. Neither premises nor conclusion 
have the slightest show of proof, and, therefore, can be of no 
force when brought against direct and absolute evidence to the 
contrary. It is taken lor granted, that the sorrowful remembrance 
of the Io!t depends upon the joyful recognition of the saved. 
It is taken for granted, that the grief of conscious separation 
would so far outucigh the joy of recognition, and eternal 
reunion, as to render entire oblivion preferable. It is yet 
further taken for granted, that there will be no means taken 
to meet the case, and to mitigate the sorrow, of finding that 
some whom we loved arc lost, other than the very clumsy and 
improbable one of keeping us in universal ignorance as lo 
those who arc saved. Such unproved conjectures cannot Kureiy 
be admitted as sufficient warrant for discrediting a doctrine, 
l>roved by strong and direct testimony. 

In the second place, we reply, that the knowledge of the ruin 
of the finally impenitent, and the sorrow consc(]uent on that 
knowledge, do not depend on the fact of recognition. The publicity 
of the final judgment, to which we have already alluded, an- 


228 sheppard's three essays. 

ticipates the objection. There is no fact connected with 
judgment more clearly, repeatedly, and emphatically asser 
than this. The very design of its being held at all is, th; 
may be in the sight and hearing of all ; so that the faithful shal 
openly accepted, and the faithless as openly rejected We s 
be made acquainted with the dreaded fact then, indepcndc: 
of the discoveries of the heavenly reunion and recognit 
Besides which, we know the principles on which the final sl\s 
will be given, and we know, or fear, that the persons in ques 
' have not the Son,' and therefore * cannot see life, but the wi 
of God abideth on them.' This conviction will remain 
affected by recognition. What, then, should we gain by i 
versal ignorance, but universal suspense and solicitude ? It wc 
but involve us in uncertainty as to the fate of all. U^e site 
want the satisfaction of knowing, with absolute certainty , . 
any whom we had loved were saved ; we should lose the deh] 
ful surprise of meeting many of whom we had little hope ; 
should be left in the certainty, or the suspense worse than 
tainty, as to those who had lived without God in the world. 

In the third place, it will be admitted that God, and 
Saviour, as well as ' ministering angels,' distinctly realize 
fact that some are lost. It will be admitted, too, that their 1 
for them is at least equal to ours, however intense that may 
It will be admitted yet farther, that their knowledge of this 
is in no degree incompatible with the bliss of Him who is esj 
tial love ; or with his joy, whose * love was stronger than dea 
nor are the songs of angels less rapturous because they arc 
agents in inflicting the Divine judgments. Why then she 
our knowledge of the fact be represented as incompatible > 
our proper bliss ? 

In the fourth place, we maintain that this objection is W( 
than futile. It casts a most serious suspicion on the Di) 
government. It assumes that God, to keep his purified 
perfected creatures in peace and joy, must keep them in \^ 
ranee. In the eloquent language of Channing, * This objec 
is worse than superficial. It is a reproach to heaven and to 
good. It supposes that the happiness of that world is foun 
in ignorance ; that it is the happiness of the blind man, v 
were he to open his eyes to what exists around him, wouli 
filled with horror. It makes heaven an elysium, whose inh 
tants perpetuate their joy by shutting themselves up in nar 
bounds, and hiding themselves from the pains of their fell 
creatures. . . . Jjut me add that the objection casts a rcprc 
on God. It supposes that there are regions of his govcrnn 
which must be kept out of sight, which, if seen, would blight 


|l\)piDcss of the virtuous. But this cannot be true. There are 
Id ftuch regions, no eccret pkces which tliese pure spirits must 
* It pcnctraic. There is impiety in the thought.' 

If it be asked how the happiness of heaven is to be reconciled 
-ilh the conviction that those whom we have loved have come 
abort of it, we reply, that it is by no means necessary that we 
havlA be iible to explain this. In ' things pertaining to the 
kingdom of God,' we cannot expect a solution of every diffi- 
jcuhy. The following snggestions, however, may suffice for the 

To the purified and perfected spirit, the character of sin will 
•ppear in its true loathsomeness, and that of God in its true 
Mci-Ucncy. The human mind being brought into perfect har- 
mony with the Divine mind, will see all things as God sees 
limn, will love all that he loves, hate all that he hates. This, 
whikt it enhances and intensifies the love felt for the fellow-heirs 
rf'f^ory, honour, and immortality,' will, at the same time, 
^':''tr.iy nil sticb fcclini;* toward the finally impoiiitcrif. I.ove to 
ljiiiiiu-:s and Viod btiiig the supreme principle of tbf perfect 
spirit, will forbid its longer loving those, whose rcbelHou and 
ingratitude bad at once despised the law and spurned the grace 
of the ci'cr-blesscd God. Whatever the God of justice and love 
inSicIs, the godlike spirit will approve. This is not mere con- 
jecture — its truth is proved by the acclamations everywhere 
iiscribed to the righteous witnesses of 'the righteous judgments 
of God.' They echo his sentenuc wilb a deep and awful, yet 
unfaltering An'icn. In the spirits of tlie redeemed, as in the 
litdcctiier himself, indignaliou will tLike the place of love toward 
iIju fiunlly impenitent.' Synijiathy with the cause of God will 
prevent sympathy fur those who obstinately oppose it. 

Here we must close, reluctantly omitting any reference to the 
sptculations of the second, or the wisi' suggestions of the third 
osjay. \\'e can onlv eovdiiilly neonuncnd the volume to our 
readers, as abounding with vahiablc thuuglits on various points, 
but little touched on in our religious literature. 


Art. IX. — 1. Debate in the House of Lords on Lord Stanlejf*9 MotwHy 
June \1th, 1850. 

2. Debate in the House of Commons on Mr, RoebucJCs Motion^ June 
24th, 25th, 27th, and 2Sth, 1850. 

3. Correspondence presented to Parliament respecting the British 
Demands upon the Greek Government, and respecting the Islands of 
Cervi and Sapienza, February — June, 1850. 

From the departure of Captain-general Agamemnon with his 
thousand ships, down to the recent time when Admiral Parker 
and his fifteen men of war entered the Grecian waters^ myth and 
history have shown how fruitful are small events of large results. 
The desolated households of the monarch MenelauB, and the 
merchant Pacifico, have alike conduced to strife. The abduction 
of the Dame Helen lost Troy and gave the world an Iliad ; the 
plunder of the household goods of the Jew Don, with some 
other offences against good morals, have lost us, it is said, our 
preeminence amongst the nations, and, to compare small things 
with great, given us a very exciting and important parliamentary 
debate. The sun of England has set never to rise again, say the 
disappointed opponents of the English government ; while their 
joyful advocates, with much zeal, reply that the son of nations 
shines more brightly than ever, as the light of progress and 
liberty. Following the classic rule, it will be our endeavour, in 
a review of the late debate on the foreign policy of Lord Palmer- 
ston, to seek truth midway between the party-bate of opposition, 
and the party-zeal displayed in defence of the ministerial policy, 
Grecian and general. 

In the outset, it may be truthfully assumed that the general 
principles in opposition were Freedom and Despotism; the 
practical issue this — is England to lend the moral might of 
her sympathy to the struggling nationalities of Europe, or is 
she to sink into a pliant neutrality to the unholy alliance of kings 
and oligarchies for the subjection of all who aspire to the dignity 
of freemen ? Some subsidiary questions of self-interest and (n 
party and place were directly involved in the decision, but this 
must be taken as the grand, or, according to legal phrase, as the 
material issue. 

The question was raised in the House of Lords by a narrower 
issue, which, whether right or wrong in political tactics, was 
certainly a course opposed to political truth-seeking, and not 
creditable to the justice of a body in its strange anomaly of func- 
tions; the highest judicial tribunal of the land. I^ru Stanley, 


u the advocate of absolutism, charged the Governmeut with 
eDflangering the continuance of friendly relations with other 
powers, by the enforcement of our claims against Greece. The 
iaconsi»tcncy of his resolution in the express recognition of the 
right and duty of protection, and the censure of the measures in 
discharge of that duty, will appear in the course of examination 
of the facts of tlie case. Lord Stanley's party, with a fair-dealing, 
in this instance, peculiar to the conduct of justice by hereditary 
rigbt, led by the Tory ex-minister of foreign affairs, travelled 
beyond the record of indictment into every topic which could 
prejudice the question in dispute. The house, by a majority of 
37, decided against the Greek policy, and without the possibility 
ofqaotion, against the whole foreign policy of the Government. 
The cflect of that vote on the position of ministers may be dis- 
missed with a few words. It needed not the precedents cited by 
Lord John Russell, which were not strictly in point, to show the 
constitutional right of ministers to retain olSce. That was to be 
ik'tcrniinc'd liy an apiical to tlit^ coiiKlilutiun. As wc have not in 
rect'nt times iicard il asserted that tlie horcditaiv logisliituis of 
. England and the commonalty of England arc identical,* we 
may leave the question as it is. But as the A\'hig I'rcmier has 
got some political credit from his opposition to the absolutism of 
the House of Lords, and as some of his more liberal defenders 
have even hailed him as the democratic minister of England, 
it may be well to remind too credulous Liberals of the magnitude 
flf the stake, as a moving cause. We have little faith in the 
abstract liberalism of the noble lord. He has been, throujjhout 
'to greater part of his public career, the Liberal of circunislances ; 
Md there arc too many contingencies, possible and probable, to 
Iwprovidedfor, before wo can honestly aijiLe in elevating tlic hero 
of finality to the championsliip of EnHli''h democracy. Time 
Iries all men and things ; and if there had ahviiys botn less 
credulity in the Kcform party, there would have been fewer 
aposlasies in high places from tlie cause of liberalism. 

The issue was enlarged in the House of ConDnons to u declara- 
tion that the principles on which the foreign policy of her 
Majesty's Government has been rc;iulated, have been siieh as 
were calculated to maintain the honour and dij^uity of tliis 
country ; .-ind in limes of unexampled diihculty to preserve peace 
l^twcen England and the various nations of tliu world. To 
arrive at a just conclusion on these conflicting opinions, it is 
necessary to distinguish between two distinct questions ol in- 
ternational policy, much confused in the debate. Tlic greater, 

_ • Mr. Disraeli's disqiusiunii on tlir |niivly ^ivi^^lntralii; ,-(impnsili"ii ril' Hit- 

10 this exitni. 


doubtless, includes the less ; but, as it is possible to approve of 
the enforcement of the Greek claims without concurring in the 
whole foreign policy, and for an honest, consistent man, to ex- 
press general concurrence in the policy of the whole without 
agreeing in every specific act, it is important to note a distinc- 
tion of which the resolution of the House of Commons takes no 
notice, and that of the House of Lords only by implication. This, 
it may be remarked, is an indication of the dimculty of laying 
down abstract rules of action, which shall be applicable to every 
circumstance in the conduct of a nation. The two principles and 
questions are these : — 1. The right of England to interfere with 
another country for the protection of her subjects, in reference 
to some specific act or acts ? 2. Her right to interfere with the 
aflfairs of other nations, on general questions of national policy, 
not specifically affecting her own subjects ? The first, which may 
be shortly termed the question of protection or non-protection 
to British subjects, depends on a quasi positive law. The second, 
the question of interference or non-interference in foreign affairs, 
belongs to the class of unfixed usage, which depends on the 
habits and feelings of an age, on the state of international good 
feeling, and much on temporary circumstances, involving ques- 
tions of right and wrong, humanity and barbarism, or it may 
be peace and war ; for one or other of these must often justify 
an exception to the largest recognition of the policy of non- 
interference. To determine the right of our Government to 
seek reparation from the Greek Government, by an armed force, 
for injuries committed on British subjects, we must inquire what 
are the provisions of international custom, the nature of our 
demands, the justice of these demands, and the necessity for 
interference by force. 

We use the term international custom advisedly, in preference 
to the common phrases — * international law,' ' the law of nations,' 
and ' public law.' There is not, and under the existing relations 
of nations, there can be no positive law ; because, as there is 
no earthly authority superior to that of a state, there can be no 
power to enact a law which shall be binding on others than 
the subjects of that state. Professor Kent, the learned American 
Commentator, without touching on this primary difficulty, notices 
others of hardly less conse<]utncc ; observing that, as nations 
have no common civil tribunal to resort to for the interpretation 
and execution of this law, it is often very difficult to ascertain, 
to the satibfuction of the parties concerned, its precise injunc- 
tions and i-xtt'nt ; and a still greater difiiculty is, the want of 
adi'(jaate pacific nuans to secure obedience to its dictates.* 

• 1. ('oiiiiiu'ntaiii-'^, -. 


Hence the existing occasion of war, described by Lord Bacon to 
be one of the highest trials of right. An international law 
could only proceed from a congress or confederacy of nations, 
an event which may be possible when Christianity becomes a 
living fiujt, when the people learn that the world was given 
for men, and not for kings and aristocracies and classes, and 
discovering their latent strength, know how to use it rightly. 
As nations are now relatively constituted, they must seek guid- 
ance from the acknowledged rules of reason and morality. 
Vattel has asserted the binding force of the law of nature, in 
enjoining nations to act with justice, good faith, and benevolence 
towards each other, which he terms the ' necessary law of 
nations ; ^ but admitting the moral obligation on nations, as 
on individuals, the same objection applies, of the want of a 
superior power to make the moral obligation a positive law, 
which can be enforced by authority. Attempts have been 
made to reconcile the rival theories of the origin of inter- 
national custom, so as to avoid the danger of the consequences 
which some have drawn, that governments are not so strictly 
bound by the obligations of the moral law in relation to other 
powers, as they are in the management of their own local con- 
cerns. But, while we fully concur in the sentiment, we cannot 
see that the argument removes the marked distinction between 
a moral and a legal obligation ; for the infringement of the one, 
men are answerable only at the great judgment seat ; for the 
other, there can be no human punishment. Nations, like the 
refined society of communities, have in time established certain 
conventional customs, which are only legally binding so long as 
they are recognised by all. It might seem useless to insist so 
strongly on a distinction so obvious, were it not that legislators, 
from that remarkable ignorance, at the present day, of the first 
principles of right and of the canons of truth-seeking, so 
essential to all sound legislation, have founded lofty argumen- 
tation on the assumption, that there is a fixed immutable code 
of international law. In the late debate, a rhetorical flourish 
by the Foreign Secretary produced some amusing gladiator- 
ship. * Civis Romanus sum,' said the eloquent minister, refer- 
ring to the haughty boast of the Roman, and immediately 
honourable members got to fisty-cufls on the knotty point. * You 
are wrong in history and law,' cries the astute representative of 
Oxford ; * it came from imperial Rome, when all the world was 
in slavery.' * No,' answers the learned Solicitor-General, ' the 
principle is as old as the young and healthy age of the Republic' 
Without doubt, the principle of protection to wandering 

* Prelim, see. 7. 


citizens was a Roman sentiment at a very early period ; but 
that fact does not prove the establishment of a common custom 
of nations. Antiquity is almost silent with regard to the 
so-called law of nations. By the morality of antiquity, the 
foreigner was regarded as a natural born enemy. Piracy, if 
committed by a Greek on a barbarian, was esteemed an act of Tir- 
tue— death or perpetual slavery was the hopeless doom of the 
captive of war. There is a trace of an international custom 
designed to mitigate the severities of ancient warfare in the 
Amphictyonic Council, but the rule of action was applicable 
only to contests between the Grecian states. The Bomans, in 
theory, had better notions ; yet although in the last days of the 
Republic, the soundest trums of public moralitv were taught 
by Cicero, history abounds with proofs of the mjustice which 
prevailed in the treatment of foreign states. With the propaga- 
tion of Christianity from the time of Charlemagne, a more 
enlightened sense of right and justice prevailed amongst the 
nations of Europe, and gave birth in time to the conventional 
code, which we are accustomed to call the law of nations. 

It being thus clearly apparent that there can be no public 
law more binding than the mere dictum of Grotius or Vattcl, or 
any other jurist, when consistent with the principles of morality, 
let us see what light the conventional customs of nations have 
thrown on the question. Have they prescribed a specific course 
of action in reference to the condition of the subjects of one 
state residing in the territory of another? Is that course of 
action consonant with the principles of justice and morality, so 
far as can be ascertained by the light of reason, the only existing 
test of validity and obligation ? 

The rule of custom is to be sought for in the practice of 
nations, rather than in any specific rule laid down by the jurists. 
It is granted on all hands, that when foreigners are admitted 
into a state upon free and liberal terms, the public faith becomes 
pledged for their protection. Protection is the logical oon* 
sequence of admission. To this end, it is essential that the 
public tribunals of justice should be open to all, for the redress of 
wrongs. This may be taken as a statement of the general obligm* 
tion of protection incumbent on the foreign state. But the parent 
state, too, has a protective duty to perform towards its sons. As 
the protection of law is a right appertaining to citizenship, under 
the social compact ; and as the rights, obligations, and duties of 
citizenship are neither lost nor loosened by temporary removal 
from the territory of that state ; it is just and reasonable that 
the general protection of the state should still attend the 
wandering citizen. Up to this point, tlirre is at least moral 
obligation of protection incumbent on both states. It may bo 


objected that there is no abstract right to protection from the 
foreign state — that residence there is a voluntary act, and 
that by that act the person voluntarily undertakes all the risk 
and consequences of the act; and by parity of reasoning, 
that the parent state is absolved from the duty of protection. 
Unless it can be shown that the moral law is obligatory only on 
particular nations, the objection fails^for the duty of protection 
IS clearly within the moral law. Let us test the question on 
grounds of common expediency and necessity. As commercial 
profit^ and other national benefits^ accrue to a state from the 
sojourn of foreigners and the general intercommunication of 
nations, the protection of law, to as full an extent at least as 
it aflfords to its own subjects, is a fair and necessary concession 
in return for this advantage. The merchant or traveller may 
reasonably say to the government of the country to which he 
resorts, ' You open your ports and your cities to the citizens 
of foreign lands ; you invite them to dwell hcre^ so long as they 
act in obedience to your laws ; trusting in your ^ood faith, 1 
have come to your shores in search of profit or pleasure, give 
me a guarantee of protection for life, and libertv, and property.' 
This surely is a right which all nations in mendly commu- 
nication are reasonably entitled to demand of each other. It 
was one more particularly due by the Government of Greece 
to England on special considerations of gratitude. The rea- 
sonableness of the demand has been universally acknowledged 
and acted on by civilized nations, so that it is as much recog- 
nised as a conventional custom as any other principle of the 
so-called law of nations. And truly, until the nations of Chris- 
tendom follow the exclusive policy of Japan, and prohibit the 
entrance of all foreigners, it is not unreasonable to maintain 
that it is no less the duty than the right of a parent state to 
enforce, by the best means in its power, protection for its wander- 
ing citizens. Vattel, while laying down the general principle 
of non-interference, distinctly recognises an exception to the rule 
in cases where justice is refused. As the practice of nations, 
the enforcement of protection was clearly proved by the pre- 
cedents cited in the course of the debate.* 

But the doctrine of protection was pushed to a most extra- 
vagant and unreasonable extent by some of the partisans of 
Government. It was said, that no subject of the British Crown, 
living under the laws of a foreign country, should be placed in 
a worse position than he would be in, if he were living under 

• Space forbids detail, but the reader who may desire to examiDe further 
into the question, will find the cases stated in the Speech of Mr. Roebuck, 
on the first evening of debate. 


the laws of his own country* What are the inevitable con- 
sequences of this doctrine ? An Englishman enjoys the protec- 
tion of the Habeas Corpus and trial by jury, so long as he con- 
tinues within the territory of England. Give general assent 
to this ultra-protective doctrine, and we must forthwith go to 
war with nearly every other state in the world. 

A few facts in illustration of the political condition of Greece 
may help to clear away some of the prejudice introduced into 
the question. Since the venerable Bishop Germanos reared the 
banner of the white cross at Patras, and led the patriot moun* 
taineers to a successful revolt against the Turks, European sym- 
pathy savoured too much of dilettanti sentimentalism to be 
practically useful to the young nation. With all the warm pro- 
fessions of love made by liberal Europe for young Greece, she 
was hardly free from the Turkish yoke when she was handed 
over to the stupid absolutism of German king-craft. The Greeks 
bravely carried on the struggle for independence, from 1820 to 
1828, when England, France, and Russia, interposed on her 
behalf; or, to borrow the magniloquent figure of an ex- Attorney- 
General, ' soared from their illimitable grandeur to protect her.' 
From the time that Greece raised the standard of nationality, the 
Government was republican. It was, however, decreed by the 
three guaranteeing powers that she should have a king, llic 
choice fell on Otho of Bavaria, then a minor ; and looking to the 
happy fortune of the coeval state of Belgium, in electing a chief 
magistrate with honesty and enlightenment to rule as the servant, 
not the master of his people, it is to be lamented for Greece that 
Leopold was not her first President- King. Under the tempo- 
rizing policy where liberalism is a sentiment, not a principle, 
England acquiesced in the views of her co-guarantees. Greece 
was to be made a constitutional kingdom, according to the arit- 
tocratic interpretation of that vague phrase. Large promises 
were made to the nation ; when Otho came of age and to the 
years of discretion (seemingly a remote contingency at the 
present writing) the Hellenic State was to receive a constitution, 
and the promise was ratified by the King of Bavaria in the name 
of his son. Otho duly came of age in corporal maturity, but 
neither Hellenic king. Bavarian father, nor co-guaranteeing 
powers, saw fit to keep their promise to the nation ; the constitu- 
tion-making was adjourned to the Greek Calends. Otho reigned 
for thirteen years as an absolute irresponsible monarch, and the 
little state became the seat of the diplomatic intrigueti of despo- 
tism, and chief of Russia, which has never forgotten the last in- 
junction of Peter the (jireat to hib succesbor — * IVendrc part en 

* Spiech of Mr. SShuflo Adair, Juno 27. 


toutc occasion aux affaires ct d^mel^s do I'Europe.' The fruits 
of the irresponsible misrule of this barbarian prince, with the 
tyranny, corruption, peculation, and profligacy of the Govern- 
ment, were soon manifested in open rapine and plunder amongst 
the people. The fountain of justice, which had never flowed 
purely, became altogether stagnant. 

And here we must do an act of justice to the Greek people, 
by a word of vindication from the unjust and ungenerous asper- 
sions lately cast upon them. It is said, that the Greeks are a 
race unfit for self-government and free institutions. In that 
bold assertion, there was not only a fallacy of confusion, con- 
cluding from the acts of an irresponsible government the 
character of a whole nation, but a misconception of the genius 
of the Greek character, and ignorance of facts materially affecting 
its development for good or evil. The prominent characteristic 
of the modem Greek, like that of his immortal ancestors, is an 
intellectual vivacity, producing a restless activity and desire for 
excitement and change. From the more sober constitution of 
the northern mind, it is difficult to appreciate the extent and 
force of this characteristic ; but we may fully comprehend the 
degrading influence of circumstances all tending to hinder the 
progress of any race, on a subtle and lively people. Ignorance, 
the influence of the most superstitous form of Christianity, and 
grinding oppression, must work evil results on any race ; 
they acted with more than common virulence in forming the 
Greek character. Under the grievous weight of an iron rule, 
the national genius could find no peaceful development save 
in the pursuits of trade in its lowest and most hurtful form. 
But the national taste was averse to peace, and rapine and 
plunder, in consequence, came to be considered a regular occu- 
pation. Is it strange that dishonesty, in all its varying forms, 
from the bold robbery of the bngand to the petty knavery oif 
the pedlar-merchant, should seem the prominent feature of the 
Greek character — and we judge from the worst specimens the 
trading Greeks — more especially, as no example for intellec- 
tual culture and nobler exertion was held out by a higher class, 
sunk in degrading luxury or profligacy ? With proofs before 
us at home, and in every trading city of Europe, of the lament- 
able results of the Christian oppression of the middle ages on 
the character of the homeless Jew, we hold up our hands and 
exclaim, Behold these dishonest, degraded Greeks ! It is surely 
proof of intellectual vigour, and of capacity for social improve- 
ment, that a national spirit did exist and maintain itself against 
these disastrous influences. The war of independence carried 
on from 1820 till 1828, and the general character and conduct 
of the Greek people since they became an independent nation. 


may be adduced to justify the belief that under happier influ- 
ences, with the spread of education, and the civilizing lessons of 
self-government teaching men the moral and social duties which 
attend all rights, they are well fitted to take a place amongst the 
civilized nations of Europe. But instead of education and self- 
government — which is education, the surest and most practical, 
and the only mode of creating a great people — the wisdom of 
modem diplomacy gave king Log to the Greeks. 

After an experiment of five years of misrule, the evil results were 
so manifest that an attempt was made to reform the administration. 
Otho having gone in search of a wife — and happy would it have 
been for Greece had he never returned — the government was left 
in the hands of Count Arensberg. The minister attempted to 
obviate some of the most dangerous abuses of the government. 
He gave independence to the judges, freedom to the press, 
introduced, to some extent, the element of responsibility in the 
administration of finance, established better police regulations, 
and, of primary importance to the improvement of the people, 
he instituted a kind of system of local self-government by pro- 
vincial councils. Otho having heard tidings of good government 
and improvement, hurried back in alarm, and dismissed the 
well-intentioned minister in disgrace. Tyranny, corruption, 
and brigandage, soon put an end to all social and industrial 
improvement. The Greek people, unable to bear the accumu- 
lated wrongs of this infamous government, and enraged at the 
perfidious delay of the court in making a constitution, rose, 
and effected the peaceful revolution of September, 1843. In 
common fair-dealing to that people, we submit that this fact is 
worth something in judging of their fitness for the duties of 
self-government. Unfortunately, they only obtained a paper 
constitution. There was no guarantee for the preservation of 
rights by a court which had shown itself above all restraints of 
morality and justice ; and faction, moved by foreign intrigue, was 
busy. Corruption, misrule, and internal disorders, again over- 
spread this unhappy country. England, in her undoubted 
right as one of the guaranteeing powers, has endeavoured, 
through the able and honest ministration of Sir Edmund 
Lyons, to use her moral influence to teach the government of 
Greece a sense of duty and self-respect ; but lul these efforts 
were checked by the intrigues of the absolute government of 
Russia, and the selfish personal policy of the governments by 
which France has been defrauded and dishonoured for some 
years. Russia, through her great influence on the members of the 
Greek Church, has used all the cunning and secret power of her 
diplomacy to turn this wretched sovereignty into the instrument 
of her designs on Eastern Europe. Ever true to the commands 


of Peter, she has in very recent days been more than fulfilling 
that injunction of his Testament, ' S'attacher et r^unir autour de 
8oi tou8 les Chrecs unis ou schismatiques qui sont r^pandus soit 
dans la Hongrie, soit dans la Turquie, soit dans le midi de la 
Pologne ; se faire leur centre, leur appui, et ^tablir d'avance une 
predominance universelle par une sorte d'autocratie ou de supr^- 
matie sacerdotale; ce seront autant d'amis qu'on aura chez 
chacun de ses ennemis.' History may, perhaps, be able to dis- 
close some connexion between the ' holy mission ' of Nicolas 
and recent occurrences in the islands of Greece. 

A very cursory examination of the merits of each case will 
establish the justice of Lord Palmerston's plea, that there was 
a denial of justice to English subjects by the Greek Govern- 
ment. There may be an implied, as well as an express denial 
of justice. This occurs, as was the case in Greece, where the 
public tribunals are so constituted, and the administration 
so impure, that it is unreasonable to expect justice. The judges 
being directly under the influence and subject to the wUl and 
caprice of the sovereign, it is manifest, at the very first step of the 
argument, that pure administration of justice was not, and cannot 
be, a reasonable expectation. It is assuredly opposed to the 
evidence of history. Badically bad, then, as respects litigation 
between Greek and Greek, is the case better as between an 
English subject and the Greek Government, against whom he 
had preferred demands? On general considerations we ap- 
prehend it is not ; for the reasonable presumption is, that when 
a tribunal is at the absolute will of the sovereign power, the 
decision will not be in opposition to that will ; in the instance 
of Greece, the presumption is strengthened by the positive proof 
of facts — the general impossiblity of obtaining justice in opposi- 
tion to the king's will ; and also, from the peculiar character 
of these claims, the Government, having, for political and other 
reasons, made the most public and positive refusal of satisfac- 
tion. It is not unimportant to take into consideration also a 
fact, bearing at least on one of the cases, that Otho the king was 
the party from whom satisfaction was demanded, and that the 
law of Greece does not permit an action to be brought against 
the king. It is important to prevent the mind being prejudiced 
by a fallacy most unscrupulously used against Lord Palmerston, 
to bear in view, that although the Government of Greece is 
really and truly an absolute monarchy, encouraged and sup- 
ported in all its misdeeds by Russian influence and intrigue, it 
has had the mean hypocrisy to shield itself by the fictions of 
the Constitution. A few facts urged by Mr. Cockbum, on in- 
controvertible authority, are sufficient to show, that even since 
the establishment of the Constitution of 1843, it was not reason- 


able to expect justice in a claim opposed to the will of the 
sovereign : — 

' The Constitution (says the learned Solicitor-General), undoubtedly 
provides, that the judges shall not be dismissed at the king's pleasure 
— but they are so dismissed every day. And not only that, but the 
Greek Government have established this system : as they have a 
number of courts of equal jurisdiction and authority, they transplant 
the judges from one to the other, as the puriK)8C8 of each case may 
seem to require. When a particular case, in which the government 
is interested in bringing to a particular decision, occurs in a court, 
they transplant the judge in whom they can depend into that court.' 

In 1846, M. Piscatori, the French minister, brought an action 
against the editor of a newspaper for libel. The seuteuce was 
against the editor, three of the judges against two for acquittal. 
One of the latter was instantly dismissed in these terms — ' The 
king has been pleased to remove you from the bench.* The 
editor appealed to the supreme Court of the Areopagus, and on 
the eve of trial, two of the judges against whom suspicions of 
impartiality were entertained, were instantly dismissed without 
any reason being assigned. These facts were not only known, 
but notorious in Greece. The old Tory plan of packing juries in 
political trials was nothing to this quick despatch of justice. 
Will any man who has read the trial of Richard Baxter, in 
1685, say that he had a reasonable chance of justice from such 
a tribunal in any case, where the government had a personal 
interest ? Suppose a royalist mob had plundered the house of 
Baxter, or any other leading Nonconformist of that day, 
would a claim for damages against the public have had a 
reasonable chance of trial with a Jeffries forjudge ? 

But the conclusion that there was a denial of justice, from the 
want of a reasonable expectation of justice, so as to bring the 
question within the custom of nations, is positively supported by 
th(i refusal on the part of the (iovernment to satisfy claims under 
their sole jurisdiction. Our demands are founded upon six 
specific acts. They comprise the appropriation of property by 
royalty, for which royalty would not pay; public plunder of 
property; the imprisonment and torture of British subjects ; and 
an act of public insult to the British flag. The first case is that 
of Mr. Finlay, whose atrocious fault seems to be, tliat he was 
born in that country on which my I-iord Aberdeen, a most un- 
kindly Scot, has conferred no honour. Mr. Fiulay may be * a 
cannie Scot' — and a prudent, thrifly dii^position has not generally 
been esteemed a crime, either by protectionist lords or econo- 
mical doctrinaires — but he is a man of character and learnings 
who served Greece in the struggle for independence, ai^ he h 


served her since, by the elucidation of her history and antiquities. 
At the time the Turks retired from Greece, he purchased some 
landed property at Athens. When Otho came to Athens, it 
was fitting that ne should have a palace, and, as a standing memo« 
rorial of his taste, a costly domicile was erected, of Pentelican 
marble, after the style of a Manchester cotton-factory. A garden 
was required, and a portion of Mr. Finlay's lands taken without 
ceremony. Mr. Finlay did not object to the seizure, but he 
asked a rair price for the increased value. ^Oh no,' demurred the 
king, in happy oblivion to the principles of Manchester and all 
other schools commercial ; ' you have no claim to more than you 
actually paid for the land.' For several years Mr. Finlay's 
claim was refused. He could not appeal to the courts, because 
be could not sue the king ; and could he have appealed, he had 
no reasonable prospect of justice. In the meantime the revolution, 
with its nominal freedom to the courts, took place, but it did not 
place Mr. Finlay in a better position. The revolution covered 
the arbitrary act of the king, though it did not blot out the claim 
against the civil list; but under the constitution proceedings 
could only be taken against the agents of the civil list, the king 
could not be sued, and these officers had long ago left the 
country. All that our Government demanded was, that Mr. 
Finlay should receive the fair value of his land seized for the 
private purposes of the king. 

The second case was that of M. Pacifico, a native of Gibraltar, 
of the Jewish persuasion, and a subject of Great Britain. The 
Athenians, as a proof of orthodoxy, have been accustomed to 
burn Judas in effigy on Easter day. In 1847, the Baron 
Rothschild visits Athens, and in compliment to the Baron's 
wealth, the authorities forbid the customary solemnity ; from 
800 to 400 irate Athenian youths, assisted by some soldiers 
and gendarmes, who had just come from church, and headed by 
a son of Zavellas, the Foreign Minister, attacked Pacifico's 
house, beat his wife and children, broke his furniture to pieces, 
and robbed him of money, jewels, and other property, altogether 
valued by him at £5,000. They destroyed also, as alleged, 
vouchers for a large claim against the Portuguese Government. 
A second attack was made in October of the same year, and his 
family subjected to some violence. At the commencement of 
the riot, M. Pacifico applied for protection to the Government, 
but none was afibrded. Young Zavellas was afterwards pointed 
out as a ringleader, but no steps were taken to prosecute him, 
or to bring the other plunderers to justice. But, say the 
absolutists, the courts were open to Pacifico. True, he might 
prosecute criminally, but that could not restore his broken 
furniture and plundered property. It is idle to talk of the 



alternative civil course of suing the individual members of 
that most respectable mob, and there was no action against the 
commune, as is the case against the hundred in England. His 
only course, then, was to seek compensation from the govern- 
ment, and that was positively refused. The cases of the Ionian 
boatmen, plundered at Salcina, and of the poor men falsely 
imprisoned, and cruelly tortured by the police, in defiance of 
the Constitution, are well known, and need not be detailed. It 
can hardly be pretended that these poor men had a reasonable 
chance of justice, even under the vaunted constitutional inde- 
pendence of the courts ! 

The last case is the claim of apology for the insult to the 
English flag, by the arrest of the boat's crew of H.M.S. * Fan- 
tome,' at Patras, in January, 1848. The Government refused 
to make the small atonement of an apology. This is a caae in which 
there could be no appeal to the tribunals of the country. 

lliere was another demand, or rather assertion of right to 
the possession of the two small islands of Sapienza and Cervi, 
as part of the territory of the Ionian republic. It is a separate 
question, and remains open for further discussion. 

The question of the mediation by France excited muck party 
contention, which had nothing really to do with the matter. The 
gravamen of the charge was, that Mr. Wyse recommenced hostile 
measures after the pacific convention of London, but as it was 
shown that the oDJectors had assumed more than the facts 
justified, to wit, that Mr. Wyse was aware of the terms, the 
accusation fell harmless. It is unlikely we should have heard 
one word of the question, if the French Government had not 
seized it as a fitting opportunity to aid their conspiracy against 
the liberties of the French people, by exciting a war cry against 
England. And, perhaps, a more sordid feeling was at work. 
M. Bonaparte had every selfish motive to gain a temporary 
popularity by an appeal to the worst passions of the people ; 
the Dotation Bill was under discussion. But the cry of perJSde 
Albion had lost its magic as a popular watch-word ; the demo- 
cratic party saw the perfidy and defeated it. 

Much has been said as to the harsh mode in which the claims 
were enforced by us. If we admit the justice of adopting the 
course prescribed by the custom of nations, and the only one left, 
then, so long as a war policy is maintained by this country. Lord 
Palmcrston was justified in his measures, (ireece, by her obsti- 
nate refusal to admit the claim for reparation, barred the 
possibility of adopting a pacific middle course. But looking 
at the whole fsicts of the political state of Greece, and of the 
tortuous system of despotic intrigue of which she was made 
the instrument, a strong demonstration of the power of England 


to protect her snbjccts from insult, and plunder, and torturo, was 
B noccMarj- policy- Coold the veil of diplomatic intrigue he 
withdrawn from tlicsc classic shores, the world might be aBtonished 
nt the complicated machinery by which the puppet Otho has 
been moved. 

The second branch of the question opens a much wider range 
of discussion, huta^: the principles involved arc simple, and the 
fcetfi hhvc been well discussed separately, by parliament and the 
poblio, the remarks pertinent to this occasion may be reduced 
to much narrower compass. The general policy of non-inler- 
fFTcncc may be said to be a duly co-ordinate with the abstract 
right* of nations. As each independent state is a supreme 
power, no civil authority can interpose in the regulation or 
management of its internal affaire. But there is a mora! obliga- 
tioB an till nations to act with justice and benevolence towards 
eadi other, and ^e more free the intercommunication of nations, 
md the greater the reciprocal advantage proceeding therefrom, 
fr. are the difficnllios of carrying out th;it oblii^^ation VLmowd, 
Onder the custom of nations.opinion becomes a power for enlorcing 
it. If the selfish ambition of a potentate moves him to attack 
a weak state, the indignation of nations is aroused, public ex- 
pediency prompts the interposition of aid, and justice sanctions 
it ; but if he should trample on the libcrlios of hin own subjeets, 
there is no^n'mii _/arje case for a forcible interference. With 
the progress of nations, the exception to the rule is enlarged, 
for if the moral law of benevolence is equally incumbent be- 
tween nations as between men, nations are bound by common 
lies of humanity to render each other assistance On the demand 
tor foreign assistance against domestic oppression and lawless 
tyranny, which shall appear to be uharly in tlie nature of a 
national demand, that is of a vast proportion of tlic people, 
intervention is recognised by the custom of civilized nations. 
Some of the most important events of Jiistory liave been 
accomplished under this oxceiitioiial princijile. Thus Kngland 
gave aid to the United Provinces of the Netherlands against 
Spain ; the Prince of Orange and the States enabled England 
to effect the revolution of 1088 ; and France in turn assisted 
the Americans to free themselves from llie oppression of Kng- 
land ; all preat facts in the history of the freedom and progress 
of man.* The right of interference must therefore depend on 

' A case stronger than btiv one of Ihcw iinu nf [jossible occurrence lasl 
Jfar in the Klorious stru^'fflo'tor the Liivs nnd lilicrties of Utineary. Iliiil ihc 
Hungarians called for an armed inttTventinn, the intervention windil, we 
^)prehend, have been morally and la»fiillj' justified. Hungary ■"»» not 
rebelling against the tyTanny of a king, but was o|ij)os:i>g one who was not 
king under the constitution, sworn In by bin immeilintr' [iredecewor, who hud 
'Mated his office, and whose prelcnsinns were 'upportifi. not by Himgariiin.i, 


the special circumstances of the case. If armed interference 
may be justified in cases, much more so, and much more 
generally so, may the use of good counsel and persuasion be 
justified in the intercourse of nations. 

Unluckily, the principle of non-interference, the generally 
sound policy of which we have fully and cordially admitted, is 
not often understood by those who assert it. It has become a 
stereotyped phrase of speech, signifying anytlung or nothing aB 
suits the sentiment of the hour. Act on the principle as rigidly 
and with as little consideration as it is daily asserted as an 
article of the political creed in conversational politics, and each 
nation must recall its ambassador and ' wandering citizens/ close 
its ports, and shut itself up in isolation from the world. Narrow 
the principle within the little world, and in time we may get rid 
of moral responsibility, and dry up the fountains of benevolence, 
charity, and humanity. To maintain the theory with all the 
rigidity of abstract principle, and at the same time preserve 
the just relations of nations, we must suppose a condition of 
perfect equality in the territory and strength, in the intellect and 
civilization of nations more socialistic than socialism itself. Yor 
until the age of social perfectibility shall come, the strong will 
threaten the weak, and the weak, by necessity, stand in want of 
counvel or aid from the strong. Nicolas of Kussia in 1848, 
declared that but two powers then existed in Europe — Revolution 
and Kussia. Can peace or progress, or prosperity, prevail 
amongst nations, when the one power has proclaimed a war of 
(extermination against the other ? There may be a great deal of 
Uusso-phobia in Europe, but there are too many proofs to the 
coiitrarv to doubt that Russia is now the strength and hope of 
the le«^itimacy and absolutism of Europe. On the authority of 
the Tory converts, we may consider the division of 1850 to be 
Englancl against the whole despotism of Europe. The issue 
lately determined was not on th abstract question of interference 
or non-interference, but on a great fundamental principle of 
progress. It would be well for those \\ho maintain the con- 
but by Au8trian», that tt, foreigti soldiers. The renUtance was not only a 
national resistance ; but the government was de facto and Jejure the govern- 
ment of Hungary. ** Stet rei ngendi potesUis,** as the iurists would say. It 
hud nt least Uie ri};ht to cull for foreign aid. One of the Ton* ar^mcnts in 
the UxXo delmte was thiK : if I^ord Pnlmerston is permittecf to interfere in 
foreign atfairs, why not allow the right to Nicolas of intervention in the 
Hlfaini of Hungary? There is no analogy; Ixird I'ahnerston, with all his 
allof^iHl warlike i)ro|)ensititit, never marclied an arwy into Italy, as Nicola.* 
did into the territory of a foreign countr}', to aid another foreign aggrEssor, 
who<tt* foreign army had been signally beaten, llie courtly language of 
diplomacy may not permit the term brigandage to the act* but it was 
uasureUly one of daring foreign aggression. 


sistency of working out a principle at all costs, to bear in mind 
that there are two classes of social principles — principles funda- 
mental and essential to the right constitution of society; and 
principles accidental — important to its development, though not 
essential to its existence. To illustrate the distinction : all 
rational Englishmen recognise self-government to be essential to 
the freedom of the nation ; that is a fundamental principle. 
But all Englishmen do not maintain that arbitration in inter- 
national disputes is essentially necessary for freedom, however 
important it may be towards its development ; that is the prin- 
ciple accidental. This is certain, that the one is very much 
more fundamental than the other ; as the foundation of the nation 
must precede the confederation of nations. But we submit, 
looking to the fierce antagonism which now prevails between 
freedom and despotism, that the universal recognition of the one 
is essentially necessary to the possible acknowledgment of the 
other. Look at the present condition of Europe. See Russia, 
inspired with her *holy mission,' with absolute Austria, the 
vassal, on the one side, and republican France, the pliant ally, on 
the other, casting the network of her selfish intrigues over every 
kingdom and principality of the civilized world. Behold 
freedom prostrate beneath the bloody hands of vengeful kings, 
and answer, Are these the instruments, or is this the time, 
to realize the glorious aspirations of peace and goodwill 
amongst men ? Is England, then, the light of free institutions, 
to continue in antagonism to these powers of political darkness ; 
or to retire from the contest, and leave the unholy alliance to 
quench the flickering hopes which live in Europe ? These are 
the principles, considerations, and necessities, on which a just 
judgment of Lord Palraerston's policy must be formed. 

We cannot enter into the detiiils, neither can we approve of 
all the acts charged in the indictment. His interference in 
Portugal was, doubtless, neither wise nor well — stifling liberalism 
without procuring any alleviation of a grievous despotism ; 
his tender of good counsel to Spain may have been too energeti- 
cally expressed; he may have been too slow to produce the 
famous Austrian despatch ; he may have mixed himself some- 
what rashly in the affairs of Piedmont, and excited too fond 
hopes from the mission to Rome and Sicily ; but it cannot, we 
think, be said, by any one who reviews these events with the 
calm and dispassionate mind which we apply to the study of 
history, that he endangered the peace of Europe. The plea of 
good intention, of a sincere wish to promote, by the offer of 
friendly counsel, the progress of constitutional liberty, the 
desire to prevent the outbreak of a fierce collision in Italy, 
prompting him to accede to the solicitMions of the soverei^^'ns 


of Rome and Naples — these and other motives, so powerfully 
enforced in his candid and eloquent defence, are surely worth 
something, in judging of his general policy during the stormy 
years of recent revolution. If it is fair to judge ministers as 
men, then is Lord Palmerston entitled to some credit, for having, 
in times of unexampled difficulty, with all the powers of conti- 
nental absolutism opposed to him, kept England at peace with 
the world. On these grounds, and chiefly because the censure 
of the strangely-allied opposition in the Houses of Lords and 
Commons, was really and in truth a manifesto of another holy 
alliance of European despots, we think the declaration by the 
House of Commons just, generally in accordance with the views 
of the liberal mind of England, and well calculated to sustain 
the fainting courage of continental liberalism. That it is so 
considered by liberal foreigners, we have every reason to 
believe, from the congratulatory tone of the liberal and demo- 
cratic journals of France and Germany. 

It is certainly to be regretted that a discussion, involving 
principles so important, should have hung not on the merits of 
each specific question, but on the success of the party which, 
by accident, became representative of certain other general prin- 
ciples. On that vote not only rested the hopes and free aspira- 
tions of continental nations, but the immediate progress, and, 
possibly, the safety of the great economical principles on which 
so much of the happiness of England depends. However much 
we may have regretted special cases in Lord Palmerston's 
career, and condemned the oligarchic system and mischievous 
legislation of his Whig colleagues in reference to many acts of 
domestic policy, we cannot help feeling that any vote which 
might tend to deliver foreign affairs into the hands of Lord 
Aberdeen, and place free-trade at the mercy of the Protectionist 
j)arty, was a contingency most disastrous to the progress of free- 
dom in Europe, and to the ])rosi>erity, and possibly to the peace 
of England. The lanunled death of Sir Robert Peel has already 
worked a change in the aspect of party. It is not difficult to 
foresee a re-union and re-construction oIvlTotj party, animated 
by one Tory feeling. Ixjt the "Whigs be warned in time bv the 
events past and possible. For the eminent abilities of iLord 
Palmerston, we entertain a just respect — a feeling which would 
increase if his lordship would adopt a less haughty tone to 
other states ; for his less liberal colleagues we are not with- 
out some hope that the events of the past month may teach 
them more wisdom. They may redeem past errom by the policy 
of the future, but there is only one course of policy which can 
save them, and sav(* their country from the miwries and the 
IH-rils of Tory domination — to irovern and legislate no longer for 


cla«6, or for the polty interesu of class, but for the people of 
Eo^kncl. Tben, and then only, may they defy all the nbgolute 
conspiiacies and conspirators of England and Europe. 

Oan word as to the un-English prophecy with which the 
debate was concluded. Mr. Disraeli, from the precedent of 
Venetian history, drew the conclusion that England had seen 
the last of her proud pre-eminence amongst the nations. But Mr. 
Disraeli misstated historic facts. That haughty republic fell from 
the j{Tvatncss of her power and place because she was ruled by a 
bcaillrM oligarchy. Unmindful of all responsibilities, dead to all 
moral uhligations. Mammon her God, class aggrandizement the 
only aim of her policy, her star may have paled at Cambray, but 
■be fell never to rise again from her too great prosperity, the 
yictiiu of rlass-rulc and commercialism. The melancholy desola- 
tion which hovers o'er her deserted palaces, and the silent palb- 
way of her waters, conveys, it is true, an impressive warning to 
England to avoid the errors of the once commercial mistress of 
the wrtrld. Bin thci-f is only otu- coi.rsL' for Enpliind, if she 
would be moved by tbat solemn warning, to abandon all that she 
still holds of the narrow and sellish policy of which the honour- 
able gentleman is the representative, and proceed onvaids, 
calmly and steadfastly, in fulfilment of the glorious mission 
which the poet claimed for her of teaching the nations how 

%M jt.'ntirrs. 

3fo<iem Slate Trials. Sensed, ,tml Illuslralfd vilh Esmi,s and Kotcs, 
By William C. Towti^cnd, Esq., 51. .4., <1.C, Tvvo Vula. «vo. 
London ; Longman and f'o. 
The phrase. ' Stntc Trials,' la used by Jlr. Townseiul to designate such 
as are ' likely to command the atlfiition of all members of tlie commu- 
nity, and to be road by ihcm witli ploasure and jirofit.' 'Whatever 
qopslion may be raised res[iectiiij,' the lo^'ital correctness of such a 
definition, no doubt can be tnloriaiiied of t)ie spirit and variety of ihc 
work being increased by its adoption. Those who dem 


point, will do well to cxan 

line the volumes before us. 

The trials in- 

duded are those of John 

1 Fvosl, ICUwafl Oxford, Jar 

nes Stuart, the 

Earl of Cardigan, Courv 

oisitr, M'Xauf;hteii. Alcxan 

der Alexander, 

Smidi O'Brien, Lord Coi 

:hranc, tlie WakcliihL. Hull 

ler aud others. 

Jubn .\mbrosc Williams, 

Charles I'inncy. .Mr. Mo.x< 

>n, and Hanicl 


O'Conneli. It Ls rather dilBcult to account for the selection of some 
of these. On the same principle, a Tast number of others might 
haTe been included, and the value of the work would thereby have 
been increased. Judging from the title-page, we expected to meet 
^'ith reports of the trials of William Hone and others during the 
premiership of Lord Liverpool; but the first sentence of the Intro- 
duction extinguished such anticipations, by informing us that the cases 
selected were such as had occurred within tk§ Uut ikirty ytan, 
Wliy this limit was fixed, we know not. We regret the ftict on many 
accounts, and principally as the triab alluded to would have afforded 
an opportunity of bringing out some of the most instructiTe comments 
suggested by the history of our past jurisprudence. Peihi^w Mr. 
To^-nscnd's limits were fixed on this very account, as no part of his 
work leads us to suppose that the censure of those in authority is 
grateful to his taste. We should also have been glad if the reports 
had been more condensed, so as to have admitted a greater number. 
The speeches of counsel and the examination of witnesses are some- 
times given at too great length, so as to weary the general reader, 
for whom the work has evidently been prepared. A more condensed 
narrative, admitting of a larger selection, would, on many accounts, 
have been preferable. Taking the work, however, as it is, we receive 
it with grateful acknowledgment, as an instructive record of many 
transactions which Englishmen should clearly understand and 
long remember. It is interesting as well as instructive ; and, though 
not suited for continuous reading, may be consulted with advantage 
and pleasure during the leisure hours which frequently occur. 
' It has been the object of the editor to free the work from dry 
severity by introducing the '' hci kttiorei ** of the advocates, the salient 
parts of cross-examination, those little passages of arms between the 
rival combatants which diversified the arena, the painting of the 
forensic scene, the poetry of action of these legal drainas.* No intelli- 
gent reader will regret the money expended in the purchase of these 
volumes, or the time devoted to their perusal. 

Daily Bible Illustrations : beiny Oriyinal Readinysfor a IVor, on Su^ecU 
from Sacred History^ Bioyraphy^ Geography^ Antiquities^ and Theo- 
loyy. Esj)eciaUy desiyned for the Family Circle, By John Kitto, 
I). I)., F.S.A. Edinburgh : W. Oliphant and Sons. 

Dr. Kitto*» labours in the department of Biblical illustration have 
secured him a worthy place amongst his contemporaries. His labours 
have been equally varied, extensive, and useful, and entitle him to 
the best thanks of the Christian Church. The present work, of 
which the volume before us constitutes the second, is one of the best, 
and will prove, we doubt not, one of tlie most popular of his pro- 
ilurtions. It is ba^cd on an admirable plan, and unites many qualities 
\\A\ tit ted t(i ^ivc it ;;vncral acceptance, and to render it prc- 
nniniiitlv usoful. ThcTuimcr volume ua.s foumied on the record we 
|)o>scKb of the Antediluvian and Patriarehal A(;cs, while this proceeds 


to the end of the Book of Judgea, — making the more proTniiient 
MTTitivei of Bcripture the baaia of brief muBtrations, suited to daily 
mJing for the thiee months, April, May, and June. We know not a 
tielln book, of its kind, in oar languoge. The results of very es- 
tnttre reading ue brought to beat on the illustration of scripture 
hutary ia a style clear and tmcrabaTrasned, and in a spirit admirably 
Biitod u> benefit the reader. ' The work,' as Dr. Kitto remarka, ' is 
not t hJBlory — not a commentary — not a book of critical or antiquarian 
ntanh — bat is sotnetbing of all these' It is, in fact, the production 
<rf an tntelligent, nell. informed, and devont mind, eamciitly concerned 
to (fire consistency and definitenoss to the views of scripture readers, 
by enccuraging the habit ' not merely of reading, but of thinking, 

The beads of families will do well to adopt it as a book for daily 
perusal ; and the young cannot easily find a more intelligent, instrue- 
CiK, or devout couipaniun. We commend it emphatically to all classes 
oT readers, as pre-eminently suited to remove misconceptions, to clear 
up difficultieB, and to impress the mind with a deeper sense of the 
injlhfulaeas and value of the word of God, 

Readings for Railways: or. Anecdotes, and other Short Stories. Re- 
ftfctions, Maxims. Characteristics, Passages of Wit, Humour, mid 
Poetry, §-c. Together tt-ith Points of Information on Matters of 
General Interest. Collected in the course of Ms owtt reading. By 
J, B. Syme. London : Charles Gilpin. 

We have copied this title-page in full, as giWng — what some title- 
pages fail to do — an accurate acenimt of the volume itself. It is 
scarctly necessary to say more than that the piomise it make.'i is 
faithfully performed, and such of our readers as are about to travel, 
whether by railway, steam-boat, or other carriage, will find it a most 
pleasing and instructive companion. Referring to Ihc exceptionable 
(haracier of many of the works vended at railway stations, Mr. Gilpin 

■ The publisher believes that it is perfectly possible to secure a nlass 
of reading, which, while not inferior in interest to those books which 
now almost monopolize the station tables, shall yet possess a decidedly 
moral tone and instructive tendency : and seeing the amount of time 
spent in travellinR — an amount which it is probable will yet greatly 
increase — lie has determined to make the attempt to introduce such 
literature for railways as may be approved by the great mass of the 
reading public' 

Heartily approving the design of the series, we are glad to be able 
to speak well of the execution of this volume, which consists of a 
variety of papers, Fclecled from the writings of some of our nl)lcst 
and most popular authors. All have their merit and attraction, imd 
^ome are exeecdinglv fascinating. 


Memoir of the Life of Joseph Outteridgey E$q,^ of Denmark^hUi, Surrey. 
By Edward Steane, D.D. 12mo. London : Jackson and Walford. 

Mb. Qutteridoe occupied a distinguished place in the religious body 
to which he belonged, and was held in high and deserved esteem. He 
lived to a very old age, and retained to the last the affectionate respect of 
all about him. His biographer was on intimate terms with him for many 
years; saw him at home as well as abroad; and had, therefore, a much 
better opportunity of estimating his character than those who met him 
only in public life. It is due both to Dr. Steane and to Mr. Gutteridj^e 
to keep this fact in mind, as otherwise the sketch drawn will be regarded 
as too uniformly eulogistic. We confess to some feeling of this kind, 
after all the allowance which the aforesaid consideration suggests. A 
want of discrimination is the fault of religious biographies, and the 
present volume is not free from the charge. We say not this in cen- 
sure of Dr. Steane. Had our circumstances been like his, we should, 
probably, have written as he has done ; but looking at the matter from 
a different point, wc arc sensible of what we deem a deficiency in the 
portraiture of his friend. It is not in human nature to be faultless, 
and the interests of the living are best served by a candid and 
loving acknowledgment of the failings of departed worthies. Mr. 
Outteridge probably had as few failings as pertain to most good men, but 
the affectionate reverence of his biographer has painted him as a perfect 
man. The style of the work is chaste and graceful ; and the memoir 
itself, without possessing any special points of interest, will be found 
both attractive and useful to a large class of readers. 

Auvergne^ Piedmont, and Savoy: a Summer Rambie, By Charles 

Richard Weld. London : Parker. 

Mb. Weld is a man of cultivated mind, with a quick susceptibility to 
the beauty of this fair world, and considerable power of communicating 
his impressions of men and things to others. He has been fcrtunale, 
too, so far as his book is concerned, in his field, rich in historical 
recollections, in beauty, and in scientific interest, and, above all, for a 
publishing tourist, almost untouched by the note-taking tribe. The 
result of this happy union of subject and sketches is one of the bett 
books of travel we have lately had — full of life and freshness. Though 
coming under the modest title of a summer ramble, it is made of much 
less flimsy material than most of its class ; being evidently the pro- 
duction of an experienced traveller, who, to wide knowledge of Con- 
tinental Europe, adds a keen obserTant eye for the peculiaritiet of 
people as well as country, and is throughout the man of reading, the 
man of taste, and the gentleman. If any of our readers arc hesitating 
where to wander to in these summer months, wc advise them to take 
Mr. Weld for their companion, and be off ; and if, like us, they are 
chained at home, they will find him a pleasant substitute for a trip 
iVi propria. 


7%« Xatianal Cyclopitdia. Vol. X. 8vo. London : Charles Knight. 
This irnrk is steadily appTonching ta its completion, in honoumblc 
fiiUllmenl of the promise of iU publisher. We have had frtqueiit 
Opportunities of tecording our judgment on ita great merits, and, 
oiliiout pledging ourselves to an approval of all its contents, ne are 
fxtc to repeat our opinion that, for excellence and ciieapness, it stands 
witltout B rival in our popular literature. Our fathers would not 
have credited the possibility of so much scholarship, varied research, 
profound science, and general bformation, being brought within the 
tMch of BO large a portion of the community. We, however, rejoice 
in the fut which they deemed so incredible, and gratefully aclcDow- 
kdg« the claim of Mr. Knight to the admiration and thanks of his 
{voatijrmen. Few have laboured so diligently, or have achieved 
ftir thenuoivcs so honourable a fame. The ' National Cyclopedia ' is 
in ilMlf • library, and should be obtained, even at some sacrifice, by 
«wj young man who wishes to posseaa the mcaiu of ready access to 
the miutt&rious results of modern learning and research. 

TXe Vale of Cedars; or. the M'irlyr. A Tale of Spain in the 

Fifteenth Century. By Grace Aguilar, London : Groombridgc. 
The authoress of Ihia most fascinating volume has selected for her 
field one of the most remarkable eras in modern history — the reigns of 
Ferdinand and Isabella. The tale turns on the extraordinary extent 
to which concealed Judaism had gained footing at that period in Spain, 
and on the terrible operations of the secret Inquisition. The heroine 
of the volume is a younij Jewess, a beautiful creation, whose fortunes 
arc blended with (ho.^c of her husband, a Jew holding a high position 
in the court. His sudilen violent dcaih leads to the imprisonment and 
trill for murder of an Knglish nobleman, a resident in Spain, whose early 
love for Marie has nnt cscjipcil the observation of the secret grand 
inquisitor. To save his life, bIic has to give evidence on his trial — 
avows herself a Jeuess, is sjiirited aw:iy to the dungeons of the 
Inquisition, assailed there by the vile ptrsecution.s of Ihc head of that 
tribunal, but Is delivered in time to rescue the innocent, and to disclose 
the e-iiistcnce of the Inquisition. Refusing to abjure the faith of her 
fathers, she loses her royal friends, her young hopes, and returns to 
her father's house (o die. This rapid outline will show there is inci- 
dent enough in the tale ; and we need only say tliat it is marked by 
much power of description, and by a woman's delicacy of touch. It 
contain^ stviff cnoui^h to float hall' a dozen three-volume novels, and 
ttiU add to its writer's well-earned reputation. 

This small volume, verv neativ and tastefully 'got up,' owes 
■ippcarance to ihe b.i/aar ri-ccnlly held on behalf of llie Wallliaius 
School lor llie Daunht^rs of Mis.-ionuries. ■ It was thought.- siys 


editor, ^ that the occasion of a fancy sale, for the purpose of aiding the 
funds of this deserving institution, wonld afford a suitable opportunity 
for presenting to the public a work which, by its title and contents, 
might perpetuate the feeling of interest which has of late been 
awakened on the behalf of these children of the warriors of the Cross.* 
Such a design will of itself commend the volume to many readers, 
and its contents will not disappoint their expectation. Though brief, 
and light in texture, they are varied, pleasing, and useful. Poetry and 
prose, narrative and counsel, the bright hues of imagination and the 
more sober colouring of reason, are happily blended in a style of chaste 
and subdued ornament. We shall be glad to find that the sale of this 
small volume is as gratifying to Mr. Aveling, as the success of the 
fancy sale must have been to the lady by whom it was projected and 
carried through. 

The Life of a Vagrant; or^ the Testimony of an Outcast to the Value and 
Truth of the OospeL To which is addedy a brief and originai Account 
of Andrias Stoffies^ the African Witness, London : Charles Oilpin. 

This little volume will be read with considerable pleasure by all who 
arc interested in tracing the fortunes of the poor. ' I can vouch,' says 
the Rev. John Waddington, ' for the correctness and fidelity of his 
narration. It is thoroughly genuine.* By the sale of this little book. 
it is hoped that funds may be realized which will enable the author to 
devote his time to the religious benefit of his class. We shall be glad to 
contribute to so desirable an end. The narrative is simply told. It 
opens up many views of humble life not commonly seen, and is per- 
vaded by a devout temper, and an obvious desire to do good. 

The Crisis of Being : Six Lectures to Young Men on Religious DecisioHm 
By the Rev. D. Thomas. Second Edition. London : Ward and Co. 

We are glad to find that a second edition of this little volume ha« 
been called for. The fact is honourable to the public, and afibrds 
gratifying evidence of the prevalence of a sounder and more healthy taste 
than has always been cherished by religious readers. We repeat the 
emphatic recommendation which we gave the work on its fimt appear- 
ance. It must not be confounded with the common run of religious 
works, the mental poverty and servile repetitions of many of which arc 
only adapted to bring religion into disrepute, by associating it in the 
apprehension of intelligent observers with imbecility, narrow-minded- 
ness, and a mere wordy devotion. 

Health, Disease, and Remedy, familiarly and practically conudertd in m 
few of their Relations to the Blood. By George Moore, M.D. Lon- 
don : Ijongman and Co. 

The first part of this volume is a familiar exposition of the circulation 
of the blood, and the relation between that and the other animal func- 
tions. Thifi is followed by a scries of chapters on the conditions requisite 


lor the prcscrvBtion of health, touching on fond, bevemge, rest. &:c., 
*,,by others on the art of heaiing. including some very sensible 
i on (juackery, private doctoring, bnlhing. and bo on. The 
of the book may be summed up in this : ' iinderstaud enough 

law* of ihe animal functions to keep youraelf in health when 

jaa »te «ell, and when you are ill, send for a doctor.' To both parts 
(rf the advice we should say Amen — and in order to cany out the first 
part, we recommend Dr. Moore's Tolume as a clear and inlcresling 
eihibition of the more simple facts that every man ought to know, and 
IMf learn better from this well-written volume, than from any work 
lint be can lay hia bands on. 

AMtly Pictures from the BlhU. By Mrs. Ellet. London : Peter 
Jackson. 8vo. Pp. 212. 

4.Tfcxasji(o volume, which will receive a hearty welcome tcara many 
nadet^, and be prized in proportion as its spirit and useful tendency are 
nnderttood. It ia divided into twenty chapters, devoted to the eluci- 
dation of the more prominent featureg of as many households men. 

lioii'd in 11, f inspirtrl volume. Fourlfcn of them arc, «c prc^ii.iio, 
the productions of Mrs. Ellct. and the romainins si.i bear the names 
of their authors. Together they constitute a volume of more thiin 
ordinary interest, in which devotional sentlmonts are happily blended 
with reflections and counsels, which all may read with advantage. Tiio 
ToIume is tastefully e:!ecutcd, and will grace the drawing-room table, 
as well as prove a useful companion to the solitary reader. 

First Class- Booh of Physical Gt'jiimphj. Ily ^ 
hurgli : Siithcrhiiid and Km 
dingly pleased with the ai 
10 o»l) 11 

tion of 

this sn 

all book. 


nd the 

cience to «■ 

that tea 

hers should 

will furnish an adm 

clear and correct 

so far as we 

IS well 

as fulnes 

of illustrali 

T, and T. Clark. 

This volume merits a favourable iioticc as a romprehcnsive and yet 
Knici-vc liiatory. wrillen in a religious lone, by a man of liberal |iriuei- 
ples and sound knowledge. A little less space given to the cnrly reigns, 
and lo mere fighting, would have left room for tliose notices of the 
wcial and intellectual life of the ' raseai multitude,' in which tlic book 
is somewhat deficient. It is a simple narrative of events, clearly lold, 
by a thorough Scotchman and true-blue I'resbvterian. 


The Early Conflicts of Chrtstianity. By Rev. William I. Kip, D.D. 

liondon : Longman and Co. 

This volume aims at presenting vividly before readers moderately 
versed in ecclesiastical history, the features of the first century which 
were especially antagonistic to the gospel. For this purpose the life of 
St. Paul is chosen, as first in conflict with Judaism, next at Athena with 
Grecian philosophy, and then at Corinth with the licentious spirit of the 
age ; followed by barbarism, and Grecian Mythology, in which two parts, 
no one incident in the apostle*s life is selected as a peg to hang the disser- 
tation on. The idea of framing these successive portraits of the enemies 
of the gospel in this way, is good and well worked out. There is a 
considerable amount of accurate information conveyed, and the style 
of the volume is always animated and picturesque, so that most 
readers who take it up will go through with it. It is not meant for 
students, and they had better leave it alone ; for others, it will possess 
many attractions, as well as convey much knowledge. 

Oazpacho; or^ Summer Months in S^in. By W. G. Clark, M.A. 
FeUow of Trinity College, Cambridge. London : Parker. 

As an unintelligible title is a great point now.a-days, we shaU respect- 
Mr. Clark*8 confidence, and not reveal whether Gazpacho is the nanl^ 
of person, place, or thing. The book which is so christened, is a slight, 
but pleasant enough record of a partial lour, in which the author has 
little to say about anything except his inns and guides, ruined convents, 
and cool cathedrals. We bring away with us neither pictures nor 
facts, neither sentiment nor statistics, nor, indeed, anything to speak 
of, except an impression that the writer^s unconquerable propensity to 
make jokes, to which propensity the corresponding capacity has not 
been added, would be all the better for Thomas Carlyle*s admonition— 

* Witty !— above all, oh ! be not witty—' 

A Journal of Summer Time in the Country. By the Rev. R. A. Wfl- 

mot. Sen. London : Parker. 

This is a very pleasant book for people at certain times and in oertain 
places. If you have nothing to do, and wish to do nothing— if yon 
have a garden with a chestnut-tree in it — if you would like as a com- 
panion out there on a bright, hot day, a man with a large store of 
reading amongst our English poets, who is himself an Amdisn 
who can criticise, moralize, and all without your having much trouble 
in listening — if all these conditions are united in our readers, then let 
them put themselves under Mr. Wilmot*s guidance. He is a gentle- 
man, a scholar, a man of taste, with a sweet style, and, what is a great 
advantage for the season of the year, if you should sleep during part of 
his homily, you can go on quite as comfortably again when you wake. 
This sort of drowsy air is. perhaps, the perfection of the book, con- 
sidering its title. There is a lack of sinew, of pith ; so that, unless 
the reader wants lulling (which the chestnut-tree will do fiur better), a 
very small dose at a time is enough. 


Scripture Sites and Scenei. From actual giirfty in Egi/pl. Arabia^ and 
PaUtlint. Chii-fl-j/or the uxe of Sunday SrAools. London : Arthur 

This -ralanble Tolume conlaina the substance of ' Walis about Jeru. 
nleia,' and ■ Forty Days in the Desert ' — condensed and adapted for 
its present purpoae by Mr. Bartlett. the author of these two well- 
known wotks. It is, therefore, unnecesBary to do more than mention 
it* publication, with the warm recommendation which its graphic 
tocriptiona and useful pictorial iilustratjons richly deserve. 

Tktf or Orthodojyf—To irhich must we Sacrtficef A Frtmdly 
Addrou in the WtiUyan MtlkodUt Prtachen of Great Britain. By 
Henry Bursas. Leeds : Heaton. 
Ar hMlMS on the evil effects of requiring from ministers a sabserip- 
tioa to doctrinal standards. It contains a great deal of wholeanma 
mih, of which other bodies than Weslejans will supply illustrations. 
It i» not in that community alone Ihnt the character sketched here is 

Xittrnrt! 3nttlligmcr. 

JusI PuhUshed. 

The Hieh Prieat't; Dress; or, Christ nrraved in Aaron's Robes. By Rev. 
n. F. J;irman, H.A. 

Memoir ol' Ihp hilc James H^illev,, Sludunt of TheoloL'v. Bv Itev. 
Wm. Amnl. Gl.isgow. 

Lntter-day Pamphlets. Edited liv Thomas CarlUe. No. VII. Hudson's 

South Africa delinciiteii : or, Ski'ttlies Historical and Descriptive of its 
Tribes and Mi-sions and ofthL- Brili-li CoIoniL'sof ihp Cape nii<i I'orl Nnlal. 
By Rpv. Tbornley Smilb, Seven Yciiis a Wesli^yan Missionary in lliat 

Fafourilc Ron;; Birds. BeinR a I'o|iular Description of tlie FLaiJipred 
Songsters of iSritain. Edited by H. 0. Adams. Parts L ond H. 

An E>say on the Consiiuilion of Wesloyaii Methodiam, in uhieh vnrion^ 
ini*repre<i-7itHtions of some of it.* leadiiif; principles arc exposed, and its 
present form \» vindicnicd. By Jolm Brc.ham, D.D. With Notes, and an 
Apjiendix coiilaininir Coiincxionnl documents. 

The WalU'-End Miner ; or, a Brief Memoir of the Life of William Christer. 
Bi Ja-s. Everett. 

Rilto's Journal of Sacred Literature. No. II. 

The Sabbath ; or, an Examination of the Six Texts commonlv adiluced from 
the New T&lamcnt in proof of a Thri^tian Sabbath. Ity a Layman. 


Ood and Man. Being Outlines of Hellgious and Moral Truth, according 
to Scripture and the Church. By a M.A., Oxon. 

The Life and Epistles of St. Paul. Comprising a complete Biography of 
the Apostle, and a Translation of his Letters, inserted in chronological onier. 
By Rev. W. J. Conybeare, M.A., and Rev. J. S. Howson, M.A. 

The Life of Hugh Hugh, D.D. With a Selection from his Discourses. By 
his Son-in-law, Hamilton M. MacOill. 2 vols. 

Thoughts on Being. Suggested by meditation upon the Infinite and the 
EtemaL By Edward Shirley Kennedy. 

The History of Religion. A rational account of the true Reli^on. By 
John Evelyn. Now first published by permission of W. J. Evelyn, lisq., M.P. 
Edited, with Notes, by the Rev. R. M. Evanson, B.A. 2 Vols. 

The Working Man's Friend and Family Instructor. VoL IL 

Sailings over the Globe ; or, the Progreas of Maritime DiseoTery. The 
East and the West. 

Th6 Working Classes of Great Britain : their present condition, and the 
means of their improvement and elevation. Prize Essay. By Rev. S. O. 
Green, A.B. 

A Letter to Viscount Palmerston ; concerning the Question of Schleswig- 

The Foundations of Individual Character. A Lecture. By W. M'Combie. 

Cases Illustrative of the Cure of Consumption and Indigestion. By G. 
Calvert Holland, M.D. 

The Life and Correspondence of Robert Southey. Edited by his Son, the 
Rev. Chas. Cuthbert Southey, M.A. VoL V. 

An Essay on the New Analytic of Logical Forms. Being that which gained 
the Prize, proposed by Sir William Hamilton, in the year 1846, for the bcsrt 
exposition of the new doctrine propounded in his lectures. By Thomas 
Spencer Baynes. * 

Report of the Proceedings in the Police-court in the trial of W. Campbell 
Sleigh, Esq., and Thomas Russell, Esq., for an alleged breach of the peace at 
the Public Meeting, in the Music Hall, April 8th, 1850, held with referenoe 
to the Marriage Affinity Bill. By George Gunn. 

An Essay on the tendency of Mental Cultivation in Science and Religion 
to promote the Improvement of the Working Classes, to which was awarded 
the three prizes offered by R. Padmore, Esq. By James SaviUe, John Randallt 
and John Alfred Langford. 

The Garland ; or. Poetry for Childhood and Youth. 

The Baths of Rhenish Germany. With Notices of the acfjaoent Towns. 
By Edwin Lee. 

Suggestions for an efficient Plan of Religious and Seeular Bdueatioo, 
based on the existing Minutes of the Committee of Council on Bduoationt &c. 
By Richard Bithell 

The History of the Early Puritans, from the Reformation to the opoung of 
the Civil War in 1642. By J. B. Marsden, M.A. 

The War in Hungary, 1848, 1849. By Max Schlesinger. Thuialated hjf 
John Edward Taylor. Edited, with Notes and an Introduetiony hf Fhuieit 
Pulszky. 2 Vols, 

The Postal Changes, viewed with reference to additional Facilitiet for the 
Transit of Letters and New8pa|)ert, especially on Saturday, &c By James 




SEPTEMBEB, 1850. ^ 

Art. 1. — 1. Popular Chrulianibj : its Tmnsilion Slate ami piobablg 
Development. By Frederick J. Foxton, A.B., formerly of Pem- 
broke College, Oxford, and Perpetual Curate of Stoke Trior, &c. 
Ijindon : John Chapman. 

2. The Nnncsis of Fmth. By J. A. Froudc, M,A., kte Fellow 
of Exeter College, 0,\ford. Second Edition. London : John 

-1. The Soul : her Sorrows and her Aspirations. An Estai/ towards 
Ike Xatural Ilislory of the Soul, i-s the true. Basis of Thvolog<j. By 
Francis William Newman, formerly Fellow of Balliol College, 
Oxford. Second Edition. London : John Chapman. 

4. Fhases of Fmth ; or. Passo^rs from the History o/mi/ Creed. By 
Krancis ■\Villiam Newman, formerly I'cllow of Balliol College, 
Oxford. I^ondon ; John Chapman. 

OiiSKitv.ANT men have long been iinlicijiatint^, and lately with 
growing convictiim of its njiproacli, sonic new and great 
di>plav of the truth and ])ower of llic gospel, analogous to that 
which ha-s made the first half of the sixteenth century one of the 
most eonspicunus landmarks in the history of man. 'Dicrc has 
Wen enough to jusliiy sueh an anticipation. The unintelligent, 
cnspiritual, and theoretical maintenance of the forms and doctrines 
nf religion, co-existing with clear-sighted, earnest, practical 
n-orldli'ness, and nio.'.t poorly compensated for by intolerance 


towards dissidents, or panic terror and defiance of Rome, or vast 
and complicated demonstrations of apparent zeal for the good of 
men and the glory of God; — the prodigious strides recently 
made by human science, involving the more accurate determina- 
tion of the limits and method of scientific inquiry ; — the rise, 
about sixty years ago, of a new philosophy, which taught that 
there was knowledge that could not be received by the hearing 
of the ear or the sight of the eye, nor grasped by the strongest 
efforts of the best trained understanding ; which taught that 
man had been provided with a special and peculiar faculty for 
acquiring this knowledge, and making it his own, named (after 
the example of the great writers of tlie golden age of English 
literature) Measofi, and its exercise. Faith; and which has slowly 
but surely won its way, till now the old philosophy, invented 
by Hobbe? and systematized by Locke, is threatened with 
expulsion from its chair ; — the agitation of society ever since the 
outbreak of the French Revolution in 1789, with its necessary 
consequences — the attainment, by whole classes of men, of recog- 
nised social existence; and the awakening here and there in 
man tlie consciousness of power, which had else, through the 
overbearing influence of circumstances, been unable to struggle 
into life ; — these plienomcna might well call forth the desire, 
and kindle it into hope and expectation — ^nay, even seem to 
herald the speedy appearance of such a new and better age for 
the w^orld. 

But apart from these things this anticipation might have 
arisen. *Thc Great Reformation' asserted two truths — that man 
is justified before God by faith alone, and not by ritual or moral 
performances ; and that no man can claim the right to exercise 
authority over tlie consciences of his fellows ; — and these seem 
to have constituted its great message. Now it is evident, that the 
first is a part only of the gospel ; for whilst it speaks positively 
of the mode of entrance upon the enjoyment of its blessings, 
it describes those blessings merely negatiteltfy — as the revenal 
of a sentence merited by foregone sin. The second was actually 
denied by the very men who proclaimed it ; for all who revolted 
from the Papacy constructed creeds of their own, and required 
unconditional acceptance of them ; — and had it been ever sc 
fully realized it could have served simply to individualize 
in their relations to (iod, and would have appeared to oppose the 
hope of their being united in those relations. But in the New 
Testament, the blessings of the gospel are descril)ed with suffi- 
cient clearness, and the union of men in filial subjection to God 
is spoken of as the expression and display of the consummation 
of those blessings in the present world; so that some further 
advance, wliich it is not unreasonable to ex^Kxt will be made in 

a manner resembling that by trKich those preparatory truths 
were established amougst men, must needs be looked Ibr, sosoon 
as, by the general reception of tliose truths, men shall be fitted 
to receive new lesaons. 

The same coDclusion wonld be teachcd if the character of all 
our popular theologies were considered ; and how much soever 
they differ amongst themselves on vnrious points of doctrine, they 
have certain features in common, which makes them allbct those 
who hold them in precisely the same way. NcceBsary as such 
systems are — for men (however rudely) spontaneously methodize 
ikli their knowledge, and it hardly is kiiowledgo until it is mcthod- 
ited — and valuable as these particular systems have proved to 
thoGc whose knowledge has not gone beyond their boundaries, 
they have been constructed upon too narrow a basis, and by too 
msdentific a method, and they have had given Uiem by the 
Umxus of succeuive theologiana too great compactness and con- 
sistency, to allow them to e^tpand with the growth of mind, or 
to r|ii:dlfy them for iiidiiig men in tlicir inf|uiiy al'lrr Tiod's triitl]. 
Whilst not one of them contains more than a prirtiun of that 
truth, scarcely, indeed, does one contain more than a portion of 
what is already known; — and God has boundless stores, from 
which he enriches men, age alter age, as they are able to receive 
it, and which be seems then to pour forth most abundantly, when 
men, as in the present day, look upon their systems as having 
exhausted, or as being commensurate with his unfathomable and 
inexhaustible treasures; making their doctrines the limits of 
religious inquiry, and the tests of religious character, and stigma- 
tizing any deviation from them, even in exprcf^sion, as heresy. 

Were teachers but more far-sighted, or less timid, such an 
advance as that we anticipate would be cH'eeted as silently, and 
be accepted as thankfully, as the change of seasons with us is. 
But therehasaiwaysbecn too little trust in the imperishable life of 
truth, and loo much love for the forms in which it has been 
enshrined ; and so convulsions must of need go before, just as in 
warmer climates the new soa.sons are ushered in by tem[>usts and 
hurricanes. Too often it is necessary that the old fabric beneatli 
which the faith of past generations lias sheltered, should be 
broken down before it is felt or acknowledged lliat a new one is 
wanted for the expanse and progressof the faith of the generations 
present and to come. Men are like the disciples, wliosc hearts 
were filled with sorrow to think that their Miister was going to 
leave them ; and who knew not that it was expedient for 
ticm that he should go away, that the Faraeletc might eomc 
to them. 

From this resistance to change it inevitably hapjiens, that in 
thetc ' hmricane seasons' of tiie failh, nuich is brought inio 


question that cannot reasonably be doubted ; and much denied 
that ought not to be questioned ; and canons of criticism and 
interpretation are set up, which if established would leave nothing 
credible but what is based upon mathematical proof, or scien- 
tific experiment, or personal observation ; and even these would 
be insufficient to produce general conviction. The duty of those 
who are * set for the defence of the gospel,' in such times, be- 
comes most clear. Avoiding peevish complaint and impotent 
denunciation, as men * knowing the times,' they should earnestly, 
and by truthful means, maintain the Truth ; for by so doing, 
the allegiance of the wavering will be confirmed, and some 
even amongst them that had revolted recovered to loyalty 
and obedience. 

It is with this object in view that we call attention to the 
books whose titles stand at the head of this article. Following, 
as they do, so many reprints and translations of foreign works, 
and several productions of the new school of Socinians, aU 
directed against the popular theologies, they seem to betoken the 
beginning of a period of unsettlement and perplexity amongst 
us. We should else have been disposed to pass them by with 
slight notice ; as it would ill become us to magnify every two 
or three privateers which appear in the distance, into the 
approach of a hostile armada. We have no doubt, moreover, 
that they have been, and will yet be, largely read ; and by no 
class so eagerly as by that which most lacks the skill to estimate 
them aright ; while the reports concerning them already spread 
abroad, are fully as injurious as the books themselves. Our 
purpose is, therefore, to show that whatever the coming change 
may be, the sweeping devastation proposed in the conclusions 
of these writers is not justified by the arguments they have 
employed to enforce it ; or else that the arguments are in them* 
selves false, because they would lead to the rejection of that 
which it w ould be a mere absurdity to renounce. The space 
that can be devoted to this subject being necessarily limited, we 
sliall be compelled to furnish hmts which may enable our readers 
to detect the errors and untruths of these books, rather than by 
a complete examination to expose them ourselves. We premise, 
by way of caution, that to conclude that these remarks are wholly 
falifc because of the manifest untruth of the tilings most strenn- 
oubly insisted upon in them, would be a mistake almost as fatal 
as to agree with all that is advanced as true, because of the 
manifest truth of much that they contain. Of this we are 
thoroughly persuaded, that such wiitings are no more than the 
rude implements by which our spiritual wastes and fallows may 
be prepared for that gentle tillage which will turn them into the 
' <^arden of tlie Lord,' when tlie thorn and the briar shall be 


replaced by the myrtle and the rose, which ' shall he unto 
Jehovah for a memorial ; for a perpetual sign, that shall not 
be abolished.' 

One other remark we mast make in this place, reserving some 
Other ffoncral observations for the conclusion of the article. Al- 
though the volumes have this common scope, and are, moreover, 
onited by being the writings of men trained at Oxford, during 
the growth and progress of the revival of Anglican Churcli 
principles, for the ministry of the Established Church, tbey 
differ widely from each other on points of great moment. Mr. 
Foxton, albeit be disavows it in the first sentence of his Preface, 
is a Rationalist, and would receive the Bible as authentic his- 
tory, &c., if every narrative of supernatural interference were 
omitted ; he also belongs to the school of modern Pantheists, who 
maintain not the divinity of everything, but the possible deity 
rf eeery man. Mr. Newman criticises the Scriptures much in 
Ihe vray that Strauss and the mythical school have done, which 
leave'! ii= little more thiin the ixima of tlie iliili ri.-iil jir.snji'; 
mentioned in them ; and he deplores ' llie desolating I'anthrisni 
which is abroad,' and hopes to save his readers from it. Mr. 
Froude is certainly a Theist ; but be approaches at times to 
the very verge of Atheism ; — and against the Scriptures be urges 
not only the objections of the rationalist and ihc mythical schools 
of interpretation, but those also by which the infidels of former 
days, were used (o attempt to set a'^iile their claims to be re- 
garded as a llivinc Pcvrlation. It is of tome importance to 
mark these differences, both because they give us assurance 
(from an unexpected source), that this opposition to the gospel 
truth be trani^ltory ; und because ive might otherwise sup- 
pose that one kind of reply would meet the objections of all these 
writers ; which would be a'; great a delusion as to imagine tliat 
they can be disposed of by appealing to the Apologies of by-gone 
ages, when no sueli subtle and learned doubts had he'en in- 
vented, and when sceptics were as a matter of course irreligious 

Mr. Foxton's Topidar ('hristianity ' has the Ica^t originality 
and power of the w^rks luider review; and appears to be in 
substance little more than an iidaptatind of the theology of a 
well-known transatlantic writer to the circumstanci s of a 
dissident from th<' ().\fonI ^cllonl. A\'e can only cite his re- 
ference to Ltacier and Kee^s Cvcloprcdia for a synopsis of 
Platonism, for the purjiose of showing that the gospel is not 
urigiiial Tpp. o-i, iic,}: his vindication of the ' A estiges of 
Creation,' as if only orthodox pedantry and fanatical cant Jiad 
attacked it, and its ' thcorv of law' were scientifically true 
(p. f>5) ; his reference of the Demon of Socrates to ' ecstasy ' 


(p. 91); his test of miracles, which is simply ridiculous (p. 101); 
his supposition that Columbus expected to find out a new con- 
tinent, whereas after he had found it he believed it to be Asia 
(p. 118); and his most extraordinary discovery, that 'neither 
the Jewish nor the Christian Scriptures contain, even by impli^ 
cation, the slightest condemnation of the system of slavery ' 
(p. 52) ; as illustrations of the character of this book. 
The proposition of the work is thus stated : — 

* To bring the spiritual government of the world into sounder and 
more consistent relations with the existing intelligence of the age, it 
will be necessary, at least, to modify so much of the doctrinal teaching 
and external government of all Christian Churches as is involved in the 
assertion of the following dogmas of the popular theology ; vis. — 

M. Of the vague and indefinite doctrine of the ** inspiration of th$ 

* 2. Of the doctrine of miracles and prophecy. 

' 3. Of the really pagan doctrine of the Divinity of Christ, as now 

* 4. Of the futile and fallacious idea of teaching Christianity by dog- 
matical creeds and articles. 

' Such must be the basis of any really spiritual Reformation, and tho 
foundation of any truly catholic Christianity.' — P. 40. 

Wc cannot stay to investigate the discussion of these ' dog- 
mas ; ' but wc must observe that Mr. Foxton does not limit it to 
the modijication of them by any moans : and, happily, he has 
made it unnecessary for us to reply to his proposition. We 
may safely, and with a good conscience, give up the fourth^ 
which was never one of our favourites ; and we refer to p. 144 
of Mr. Foxton's own book for the reason for our positive refusal 
to * modify,' in the direction of explaining away, the other three. 
Our author says : — 

' The cxiRtencc of false prophets is not a presumption against the 
reality of the true, or Christians might argue against the probability of 
a Messiah from the delusions of Joanna Southcote. It would be far 
more just to argue, from the abundance of false prophets in the world* 
that it is the everlasting puri)ose of Qod to instruct and to regenerate 
it by analogous means.* 

Wc never met with a satisfactory answer to this argoment ; 
and as in place of * false prophets,' in the last sentence, * false 
miracles,' *preti'ndcd inspiration,' and ' pretended incamationa of 
the Deity,' may bo inserted with cc|ual correctness and force, wc 
shall leave the refutation in Mr. Foxton's own hands ; merely 
adding to our observntions upon his book, that he has much more 
to apol()p^i7.e to the Bishop of Hertford for, than the oUencc of 
repratiuj^ the silly newspaper story of his having derived the 
profound views whieh characterise his * Thouhis Aquinas, * and 


' Bampton Lectures,' from Blanco White. Indeed, it is hardly 
honest, by quotations of the kind employed in it, and bare 
references at the foot of the page, to make it seem that Dr. 
Hampden holds similar opinions to tho^e which are maintained 
in ' Popular Christianity.' Wc refer our readers to the ' Intro- 
duction,' in the Becond edition of the ' Bampton Lectures,' for 
full and clear information respecting the amount of sympathy 
■which the Bishop has with such hopes of the ' development' 
of Christianity as this writer entertains. 

' The Nemesis of Faith' is a work of a very different kind from 
Mr. Foiton's. Written in a most captivating style, with many 
passages of great beauty, and displaying a genial frankness and 
Tivacity, it is the very book to become a favourite with those to 
whom Mr. Froude apparently has particularly addressed it — the 
youth under Anglo- Catholic training at Oxford. Its home-trntha 
raipecting the Church will make it doubly dangerous in tliat 
ya i rt e r. A reply to it can hardly be expected from that vene- 
rable e*l,iblislimeni : and should one npporir, it w(.ald not he 
quite suited to our purpose ; we thciei'orc oilur a few remarks 
upon it, with great brevity, without noticing anything relating 
to biblical criticism, and evidences of Christianity, and which is 
not C'iscntial to the chief end of the book. 

Mr, Froude mildly complains, in the ' explanatory preface' 
prefixed to this seconi/ edition, that wliereas he 'wrote a tragedy,' 
he was ' supposed to have written a confession of faith ;' and pro- 
ceeds to show the moral which he intended to set lortli by his 
drama. We give this in his own words : — 

'Failh ought to have been HutlH'vlaiurs salivation — il wlis Lis 
'^ Ntmc^is-— it flc^trojotl Ijim.— 1*. xiv. 

'It is icUf for the minil In hn]K- lo s|M'cuI,i1c iU:u- of Uoiibt in tlic 
dosct, as for l!ic boilv to be plij^irkiil out uf sitkiif-:! kept Iviii- on a 
sofa. Emplovmcnt is'tor lliv on.- wliat cxvrci-c is for tlic oihtr.'— 1'. vi. 

•Man is a real man, and tati livL> ami act muiifull)- in this «orld, not 
in the strength of iipinions. not acioidinj; lu whiit Ik' lliinks, bnt 
according to what he is. Anil wliEit tan make us really iniii. what can 
enable us in anv projier sense lo f,r. but the siL'iuiy fuith in Him wlio 
alone u. and in' whom and throu-li wliom i> all uiir slriiu-th? The 
eliihl bfiti-s with il Into ilii. world the impulse to fnrn to liim ; the 
first effort of ihu dawnins mind is ever towards heaven, and wlien this 
instinct receives its priTiier cullure, (licre is no danger that ulien the 
child grows to bo a man, he will ii '" ' " ' ' 
clear him of every peiplexitj, and 
But our present oibication is not it 

it should maintain, it strangles; liie hsht whieh it should ftrd, il 
stifles; a ved is before the faee of heaven, and the best atfeetions of the 
heart are intcrtcptcd, and sipiaiidi^red upon the l(;;;cudij uf thf early 
world,-— 1*. ix. 

light and strentrth 

enough to 

him safe through e 

■cry trial. 

r cahure. The in.,, 



We should never have discovered all this in the * Tragedy/ 
and it would have been much better if in this second edition the ! 
tale had been made to explain itself; for few will read the 2 
Preface, compared with those who devour the story ; and all i 
that seems to be exhibited by the sorrows of this clerical Childe .' 
Harold (see p. 29), whom Mr. Froude has selected for his hero, ; 
is, that ' Catholicism ' does not furnish the true theory of the ? 
world (p. 144); that 'all real arguments against Catholicism' 
are, ' in fact, arguments against Christianity ' (p. 148) ; and that : 
for a * weak, clever ' man like Markham Sutherland, who is t 
Hamlet without his faith or his philosophy, speculation leads to 
undertaking the duties of a clergyman against his conscience— 
to carrying about on the person a deadly poison for years — la 
entangling thc^ aflFections of another man's wife — ^to attempted 
suicide — to the profession of Romanism in a convent — and, after 
all, to the exchange of that profession for the blankest scepticism 
and despair. Sutherland never had any faith ; but it was nol 
even his ' creed ' that proved his ' Nemesis ' — ^it was his unbelief , 
that destroyed him. 

If the shocking conclusion to this story of a life should deter 
any from that speculation, in which doubts are cherished, not 
from any disposition to believe, nor with any expectation of find- 
ing truth to be believed, this book will not have been written in . 
vam. But we should deplore, as the worst consequence of the por- 
traiture of such an extravagant scepticism, the employment of it to 
prevent that inquiry without which there can be no intelligent 
reception of the truth. We quite agree, however, with Mn 
Froude, that action is the natural corrective to speculation. Nor 
do we differ from him respecting the secret of manful acting ia 
this world : mere opinions and thinkings will never lead to it» 
but ' being really men ' infallibly will ; and the faith in God, 
which in the eleventh chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrcwi 
is so variously illustrated, is assuredly the sole basis of this 
manfulncss of heart. So far we can go with our author. 

But in what child has he ever discerned this impulse towards 
God, this eflbrt towards heaven, which needs only * proper cul* 
ture ' to make its after-life so noble and divine i True it ii, 
there is in every heart what, even in earliest childhood, is capa- 
ble of responding to, as well of receiving, instruction respecting 
God and heaven ; but the idlest of all theorists' dreams is this 
which Mr. Froude has put forth here, and one which is contra- 
dicted by universal experience. There is no such impulse, no such 
light ; and so the 13ible stories can neither stifle nor strangle them ; 
neither do they hang a veil before the heaven of childhood, nor 
pervert the affections which should be givin to God. I'hii 
thought is repealed in several p;issapcb of the * Tragedy.' Thus 

poxTos, rRoons, and newman. 205 

ifklmm writes respecting his early training : — ' Woe to the un- 
iky man who, as a child, is taught, even as a portion of his 
'j what his ^rown reason niuat forswear' (p. 124). And 
I h-Oyf is it possible to teach a child anything about religion, 
"lout using language and imagery which are not only in- 
iquate to represent what we know respecting it, but, if taken 
' any child as a ' creed,' must lead it miserably astray ? 
r. Fronde seems afterwards to have dimly seen that what he 
t upon this subject was untenable ; for in hia Preface he 
Hiere is life in the pnaish school — the child's nature ia 
B 8S that which gave the old stories birth ' (p. xi.) ; an 
B. which might bo presiied to consequences very tin- 
ted by the writer. 
To this moral, however, we have other objections. What is 
- culture' by which these imaginary impulses and 
I, l^ht be cherished to the height of true manfulness I 
Smt not to have been left untold. Again, by what com- 
^tnon is spccuhitinii to be pruvcntcd from swL'cjiiiif; rn\ n\ cvfii 
that ' article ' mIik-Ii M)-. rroiide li.n admiltL'J— ' F.uth iii liiiii 
vho alone is y If ' historical criticism and scientific discovery 
liave,' in his opinion, ' uniformly tended to invalidate tho 
■nthority ' of the Uible histories (p. 145), on what recognisable 
principle can he reject the conclusions of those who find no deity 
out the universe itself, or some unknown power they call ' law V 
Especially since, although he says ho believes in Providence 
'with all his heart' (p. 5), he speaks with a half-expressed 
doubt of the Justice of the judgmi'uts of ' that power ' (p. !>3) ; 
indin the l;ist sentence of the book, and in several other passages, 
questions the wisdom and the love Mhicli brings into life others 
ihan the prosperous and the h;ippy (pp. 78, &c.) ; ;iiid in one 
place writes thus : — ' Nature hiis found a. remedy for the heaviest 
of ordinary calamities in tl\c torpor of desp;iir ; but some tilings 
we heyotul her care, perhaps hrii'iiid her Jori'Si;//it. Peiliajis, in 
laying down the conditions of humLinity, s/ie shrank fium sl-i'iikj 
the full exlreme of Tiu'scn/ I'-hic/i t-i/s possible (o il' (p- IWj- 
' Steady faith in Him who alone is "—how is this faith, or any 
faith, possible, if the lot of man here suggests sueli thoughts as 
those wc have marked in llie hist quututioii ? 

These arc not all our objections. The gospel system is dis- 
tinctly disavowed (pp. CS, &c., .S(>, &c.), although wo find ' the 
religion of Christ ' called ' the poor man's gos])el, the message of 
forgiveness, gf reconciliation, of love ' (p. 19) ; and a theory of 
its origin propounded (pp. 8!^ — 90), which exceeds in absurdity 
md inconsistency with historical facts everything of the kind "c 
ever met with. The IJiblt — fiiotwithslanding 5ir. Froude suys 
in the Preface most energetically, ' I do not dishonour the Hible : 


1 honour it above all books— the New Testament alone, since 
I have been able to read it humanly , has to me outweighed all 
the literature of the world' (p. xv.); calls it 'beautiful and 
magnificent ' (p. x.) ; declares, ' I believe that we may find in 
the Bible the highest and purest religion . • • . most of all in 
the history of Him in whose name we all are called ' (p. 18) ; 
and ^ the best which can be said to individuals to urge ihem to 
their duty, is in that book ' p. 45)— notwithstanding all this, 
of the Bible he says, that he is * sure that it contains things which 
are both insulting and injurious ' ' to the pure majesty of Grod' 
Cp. V.) ; ' that not the Devil himself could have invented an 
implement more potent to fill the hated world with lies, and 
blood, and fury ' (p. 63) ; and things of like import elsewhere 
(pp. 10 — 14), all showing that it spreads 'aveil oefore the face 
of heaven,' and is ' a curtain which conceals ' God (pp. ix. x.). 
How then are men to know ' Him who alone is ' — ^how know 
surely that he will answer their * steady faith? ' 

Mr. Froude appears to rely upon three or four revelations : 
of one he says, ' the great Bible which cannot lie is the history 
of the human race * (p. xii.) ; of another, * what is ever before 
their eyes — in the corn-field, in the meadow, in the workshop, 
at the weaver's loom, in the market-places, and the warehouses— 
here, better far than in any books, God has written the tables 
of his commandments' (p. 42) ; and of the others, ' we have our 
conscience too ' (p. 45) ; ' and, more than aU, experience — tho 
experience of our own hearts ' (p.46). 

Now, precious beyond all price as these revelations are for 
the confirmation and establishment of our trust in God, when 
once we know Him, not one of them, nor all together, without 
some other revelation, ever taught man that which Mr. Froude 
rightly makes the root and ground of true and manful life. We 
dare Mr. Froude to the proof; we are confident that the nearest 
approach man ever made to trust in God, by such means, was 
a ^ perhaps^ or a hope, that was only an agony of despair. But, 
how can this writer appeal to ^ the Bible of universal history,' 
when ' with Nicbuhr-criticism for a reaping sickle ' (p. 153), he 
has cut down and cast out of the history of the human race the 
histories of the Bible and the gospel of Christ/ And what 
history of the human race would remain afler such a reaper as 
he, armed with such a sickle, had gone over the field/ We 
know what can be read in that * great Bible,' apart from omr 
Bible ; there is not one word like this — ' Come unto me, all ▼• 
that labour, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest' We 
have already seen what sort of revelations Mr. Froude has^dis* 
covered in Nature's book — miseries of men • lK»yond the care, 
perhaps beyond the foresight* of God. This would not encou* 


Tage trust in him ; and, if it could, yet it would not say to man, 
' Son, thy sins be forgiven thee 1' 

Strange as it may seem, Mr. Froude admits the reality of sin. 
ll is true that there ie an elaborate speculation in pp. 90 — 96, 
by tFhich the idea of sin is got rid of entirely ; but in the Pre- 
face (which doea not appear to be the beat place for the refutation 
of »ach a fatal mistake), we read that that speculation contains 
*Mi]y half the truth." ' If we doubt whether sin be or be not a 
reality TcUtively to our individual selves, let us try it and see 
— let us measure what we are with our own knowledge of what 
»e might and could be, and our doubt will not last long' 
(p.Tiii,), This is the extent of the revelations of conscience. 
And now, we appeal to every one who ever knew for himself, 
&M, the reality of sin — and we ask, if ' faith in Him who alono 
n,' of BUcb a kind aa to lead to manful living and acting in this 
vinld, is possible when conscience thus tesdfiee against as ? or 
if conscience has one promise to allay the terrors she has excited? 
or if worlifihops nnd waiThouses toll of anythins: more than 
liuinan worldly duty.' Experience is the lest of revelation, not 
terelation itself; and it serves to hold us fast to what wo have 
inown of God. When once wo have proved the response of 
'Him who alone t's ' to our faith, it would aid greatly in making 
that faith ' steady ;' but it cannot lead us with the boldness of 
hamllity to exercise such confidence, when its results are only 
w unassured hope. How then is man to know God^ — ^how 
know certainly that he will accept his faith ? Mr. Froude has 
no answer to these questions, on which any but a madman would 
rely — and such a one even might be staggered by contradictions 
like those we have seen in our review. 

We have spoken as if Mr. Froude had not disclaimed the 
writing ' a Confession of Faith ' — for he says in the Preface, 
'In all questions of pure speculation — and in these I include the 
whole systematic framework, historical or doctrinal, of religion — 
I am ready to avow as my own whatever, so far, my hero ex- 
presses ' (p. vii.) And without this assent of the author, we 
should not have hesitated to do as wc have done ; for the fiction 
is too transparent to hide the fact. 

Looking back upon ' the Nemesis of Faith,' we are constrained 
to say that, with the exception of what he has said of Mr. J. H. 
Newman and his aim, which deserves a place in the ecclesias- 
tical history of the day, it would have been better had Mr. 
Froude not written this book. The story is too full of revolting 
incidents to be instructive ; the objections to the Bible have not 
even the charm of novelty ; and the sjieculations are so shallow 
and one-sided, tluit an 'explanatory Preface' was needed to 


correct them. Mr. Froude professes in several places tlie 
highest possible admiration for Mr. Carlyle ; surely he will 
regret that he did not act upon that favourite maxim of his, 
so forcibly illustrated in the fifth of his * Latter-day Pamphlets *— 
* Speech is silvern; silence is golden /' 

* The Soul' and the * Phases of Faith ' are works of a higher 
character than those which have engaged our attention ; nor is 
there so much in them that betrays the Oxford education of their 
author. Their natural and vigorous style, and serious, and even 
spiritual tone, are calculated to secure them a wide circulation ; 
and to give to both objections and assertions, in the minds of 
most readers, greater weight than in themselves they, possess ; 
whilst the latter feature suggests the hope that their accomplished 
writer may yet see the fiital defects of that phase of his faith 
represented in the * Soul,' and how they can be supplied by 
the peculiar truths of the Scriptures ; which he has too hastily, 
however long the process, rejected as a source of religious know- 
ledge. He himself remarks, as if to encourage such a hope, 
respecting the * first novel opinion ' that he embraced — ' this, 
I believe, had a great eficct in showing me how little right we 
have at any time to count on our opinions as final truth, how- 
ever necessary they may just then be felt to our spiritual life * 
(Phases, p. 6.) We only wish that our comments may be of 
any service in showing that the reasons for which he has given 
up much that he disowns, are at least as unsatisfactory as those 
for which he formerly held it ; and that whilst he has not got 
beyond the reach of difficulties and objections, of exactly the 
same kind as those which apply to * the truth as it is in Jesus/ 
there arc others which belong peculiarly to that aspect under 
which he now regards the relations of man to God. This desire 
would of itself oblige us to use that plainness of speech, which 
the consideration of the influence of these works on other minds, 
and the arguments and expressions occasionally used by 5Ir. 
Newman, have also enjoined upon us. 

We begin with the * Phases of Faith,' because although pub- 
lished last, it displays the process through which the mind and 
' creed ' of the author went, before the thought of constructing 
a new * basis of theology,' in ' the Natural History of the Soul,' 
occurred to him. We would earnestly recommend those who 
wish to know the full worth, or worthle^sness, of the most 
spiritual scheme of doctrine which in late years has been pro- 
posed as a substitute for the go>pel, to adopt this order. They 
will be surprised to find that Mr. Newman, notwithstanding 
the extent to which he has carried his disbelief, admits till the 
principal axioms on which the argumentative defence of the 


^ C1tr!&tian religion rests (Sottl, pp. 1,2, 118, &c.) — and practi- 
caliv. all the great truths of that rcligioa also. And if, ns ie too 
probnMe, the reading of the 'Phases' should drive any half- 
thinking young men to infidchty, the suhscqucnt perusal of 
' the Soul ' may show them how untenable a position they have 
reached, even by the confession of him who led them there, 
(Uid thus stimulate them to regain a new and more firm hold of 
tbc gospel of Christ. 

"laia ' History of my Creed ' is the record of as determined and 
complete a destruction of everything save the sentiment of re- 
Ugioit in a mind, as we ever read of ; and the ' History of the 
Sou!,' of" as desperate an attempt to reconstruct out of that seu- 
&n«)t a system of doctrine, Mr. Newman seems to have acted 
jurt as if ihnt artist who discovered a work of one of the great 
tUMOlUm covered by some wretched painting of recent date, 
iodesd of removing the profane dnub with religious care, that 
He might preserve the original unharmed, had set about it with 
siirh caiiiT zciil, tliat at ksl iIiltc rrmained iimi-lit but a shnpe- 
less and almost colourless confusion; and thon, in wrath, had 
scraped the whole from the panel, and laboriously reproduced 
ihe subject, modified as his own taste suggested ; and had 
offered that to the world as at least some compensation for 
what it had lof-t. 

"W'e cannot undertake to notice every one of the multitude of 
distinct qucstlous in this ' Phases of Faith,' and in general, for 
satisfaction on points of sacred critieisni and interpretation, wo 
refer to the numerous modern works espceiaily devoted to these 
subjects ; v ilh this single remark, that uii n whose piety, scholar- 
ship, truthfulness, and logic, are at lia-;t e(|U,.l to Mr. Newman's, 
liavo arrived at such different results from those stated most 
conrtdcntly here, that a suspense of judgment, till their results 
and investigations have been examined, is a t.light diniand to 
make upon our readers. Our purpose is simply to show that 
Mr. Xowman's arguments do not justify his conclusions, or else 
ju-tily much «idiT conclusions, so that he ought to give up 
"hat he would be the List to abandon; and that he so con- 
ducts his inquiries that he is not a safe guide in the perilous 
path, along which he ofiVrs to lead his readers. The manful way 
in which he speaks of his brother, and the rca.-ons which led him 
to dissent from the Established Church, we may mention here 
as worthy of notice, although they do not come within the scope 
of our criticism, and with them, all tlie pa:;sagcs of external 
history are excluded. 

The slorv is arnuigcd under six wellMUfined periods; the 
three hst of which form a distinct division, being nlniost entirely 
taken up with an account of the inquiries whicli led Mr. New- 


man to relinquish the Scriptures. In the former periods his 
inquiries related principally to doctrines; and at the close of 
the third, there was scarcely one doctrine of popular theology 
left to he given up. Before we remark on this early part 
of his book, there is one general observation which must 
be made. The question raised in each instance is respecting 
some doctrine, or form of faith, which had ceased to repre- 
sent truth to his mind ; and yet we find at last, that Mr. New- 
man has given up in intent the whole of the gospel itself, and 
all its truth. Now, the conclusion goes so much beyond the 
premises, that our author's logic must have failed him ; or 
else, notwithstanding the spirituality he has manifested in ' the 
Soul,' and notwithstanding his high cultivation of mind, his 
early Church training led him so to identify and confound 
the truths of the gospel with the doctrinal forms under which 
they have been embodied, that to give up the form was to 
renounce the truth also. The same want of logic, however, 
appears in the conclusions drawn from certain difficulties re- 
specting the Bible, in the second division of the book ; where* 
fore we are fain to suppose that this is an error of judgment, 
which Mr. Newman will gladly correct. 

The first subject that demands notice (for those of ' imputed 
righteousness,' ^ vicarious sacrifice,' and the Trinity, which arose 
in the period of Mr. Newman's * youthful creed,' are only 
questions respecting the way in which certain truths are held ; 
upon which, so long as the world lasts, from the varieties of 
natural endowment, education, and metaphysical systems received 
by individuals, or by society in general, there must needs be 
differences) — the first subject is that of the second coming of our 
Lord (pp. 34 — 37). The investigation of all the passages quoted 
is impossible here; but we assert most confidently, that Mr. 
Newman has exaggerated the importance of this particular in 
the teaching of the Apostles. Neither is it ever so stated ai to 
warrant his ^ inevitable deduction,' that ' we must work for 
si>ccdy results only ' (p. 37). And, what is yet more convincing 
against him, Mr. Newman has not even in the slightest manner 
alluded to the following passage, in which his deduction and 
representation are expressly reproved : — ' Now we beseech you, 
brethren, by the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, and by our 
gathering together unto him, tliat ye be not soon shaken in mind, 
or be troubled, neither by spirit, nor by word, nor by letter, ai 
from us, as that the day of Christ is at hand ; let no man deceite 
you by any means,* (2 Thess. ii. 1 — 3.) . 

Mr. Newman has, moreover, involved in this question, by 
implication at p. 36, and expressly at pp. 204-5 — whc*rc ho 
enumerates his ' inevitable deduction ' as one of the evils he had 


neaped by rejecting the gospel and the Bible — the exhortations 
respecting not loring the world, which are to be fouud in the 
First Episde of St. John ; and has interpreted them in a manner 
sahable to his purpoac here (p. 205), which he shows in ' The 
Soot,' p. 181, he knew to be not the true interpretation. Mr. 
Newman may hare ' acted an eccentric and unprofitable part ' 
(p. 204) ; and he may have been misled by ' the Irish clergyman ' 
(p. 37); bat he has no right to charge his error to the New 
Testament, and mate it a reason for unbelief, 

Hia Trinitarian difficulties (pp. 13, 46, &c., 83, &c.) aroso 
more ont of creeds than out of texts ; and as we do not feel in 
the least inclined to undertake the defence of any ' creed,' we 
can onlv say, with a view to indicate the practical solution of 
such dimcultics, that this question is essentisdly part of the wide 

aneetioD of philosophy — hou> God exists 1 — and absolutely beyond 
le rrach of our thought ; but, bo far as it has a practical interest 
for oa, admits of this answer — when a man has received forgive- 
ntm, and a new life through Jesus Christ, and finds it maintained 
by tiio Holy Spirit, he will know that both Son and Spirit are 
Dirine ; — whilst it is so impossible by any formula of human 
words to represent, adequately, the relations of the Son and 
^trit 10 the Father, that (aa is manifest from the quotations of 
fHiWpir'^l vriters on all sides in this eTer-vexed questioa) almost 
ttttj different creed ever invented is to be found by fair inter- 
prinattLiii in diffi rent itxts of liic Ntjw TuHtiimciit. ll. i^ to such 
subjects that Mr. Newman's maxim, about ' understanding our 
own words ' fpp. 13, 48) applies ; it has nothing whatever to do 
with the truths which the forms attempt to convey, and which 
may be apprehended with all sufficient clearness for life, without 
being put into forms at all. 

Respecting the Christian evidences, again (pp.40, &c., 81, &c., 
153, &c.), wo cannot say much now. It must be palpable to 
every one that the evidi'nco of Chrit-tianity is that upon which 
it is received (by .all who truly have received it) as living truth ; 
i.e., actual experimental proof that it is true ; tlie conversion of 
its truth into daily fact. All else is merely corroborative evidence ; 
very needful for defence, and requiring a certain amount of 
intellectual application to discover and apply it. In ' The Soul ' 
(p. 252,no/e), Mr. Newman caricatiiics what we have designated 
(Ac evidence; and yet, in pp. 118, &c., of the same book, he shows 
himself f nil V alive to its re;dityaud foiTC, and actuallvcm[>loys it 
to forefend his own theology against the attacks of rationalizing 
philosophers. The secret of his difficulties lies in his confound- 
ing the Bible with Christianity, as he had been taught to do by 
that party in the Church of England amongst whom he first 
appears; and as the unvise exaggerations which un instructed 


and unspiritual men employ when eulogizing the Scriptures also 
do. Mr. Newman insists much on the impossibility of poor and 
half-educated persons investigating historical and literary ques- 
tions (pp. 155, &c., 200). He seems to forget that a thousand 
things every day come to such persons confirmatory of their belief 
in Bible story, the force and value of which none but a man 
without reason would question. 

There are connected with this subject (p. 83) two topics, 
neither of which seems to require a long answer. ' I was unable 
to admit the doctrine of ^' reprobation/' as taught in the ninth 
chapter of Paul's Epistle to the Romans ' Cp« 75). In reply 
to which we say, that that doctrine is not taught in that chapter, 
nor anywhere else in the Scriptures ; but is nothing else than a 
corollary to the logical development of the doctrine of election. 
The ninth chapter of Paul's Epistle to the Romans contains (wc 
adopt the interpretation of a theologian, whose appointment to 
the chair of New Testament Exegesis, in the New College, is 
one of the most hopeful features in that institution) only thii, 
that though God has displaced the Jews from their position of 
peculiar privilege, by * opening the kingdom of heaven to all 
believers,* neither his truth, nor his justice, nor his honour, arc 
compromised ; which is sustained by a rapid citation of examples 
from the Old Testament. We must do as Mr. Newman's fellow 
freshman did respecting ' imputed righteousness ' (p. 4), ' send 
him back to study the matter for himself,' for he has depended 
too much on the commentator he has followed. 

It is not necessary to enter upon the other subject— eternal 
punishment (pp. 76, &c.), for Mr. Newman docs not touch it 
No doubt it is 'impossible to make out any doctrine of a philo- 
sophical eternity in the whole Scriptures ' (p. 77) ; and for this 
very good reason, that there are no human words capable of 
propounding such a doctrine ; and, wc may add, also, because 
the intent ojf the Bible was not the propounding of such doctrines, 
but to teach the gospel. Respecting the whole class of passages 
to which the terrible pictures of the state of the lost belong, Mr. 
Newman ought to have seen that, in a collection of writings like 
the Scriptures, not every part is intended to teach even gospel 
truths, dogfnatically ; but much to excite appropriate feeling, 
which would lead all whom that truth concerned, to turn their 
knowledge of it, whcncesoever obtained, and in whatever degree 
possessed, to living use. It hardly became a scholar like Mr. 
Newman, to make such account ot' the almost puerile erudition 
of that ' Unitarian book ;* and what he says in p. 78 is not to 
the purpose, for the gosprl would still be ^ good tidings,' and 
salvation from sin a real deliveranee, to as many as received it by 
faith, though all that he says about the ' vast majority of man* 


kind' being in sin and misery for ever (of which there is not the 
•beidoir of ■ hint in the Scriptures), were true. 

The dbcussioDB of the 'Atonement" (pp. 90, &c.) and the 

* Fall ' (pp.94, &c.), aflbrd illustrations of our genera! observation 
ot Ihc outxet. Identifying the doctrines of theology with the 
truth of Uif Scripturefl, Mr. Newman gave up the latter, because 
be found he could not retain the former. The study of the 

* Kmnpton Lectures' of the Bishop of Hereford would have pre- 
aerred IiUu from such an error. Wo earnestly recommend this 
^eat work to our readers, and especially to those young men 
■who may not see how Mr. Newman could avoid the conclusions 
to which he hm come. 

"What we have culled the Sceoud Division of this book, records 
■ connected serica of inqniries, beg'inniog with the errors in the 
gvaoktogy of our Lord given by Matthew, and ending with the 

I ttttal aMndonment of the Bible, except as an aid to devotion. 

I W esone little more than results can be given ; but diese are 
annonnced in such rapid succession, that the first rfTcct is pcr- 

shows that it is not the u-cii//it of tlicsc ohJL-ctlons to the liiblc, 
but, partly, tlie vclorily with which th(.y strike the read<T's mind, 
and, partly, the closeness with wliich tlicy are linked together 
(as Mr. Newman himself has slmwn, pp. ^Ki — "1!>), that gives 
the process its sceiiiinff force of conviction. Noiv, as wc cannot 
inspect the chain link by link, it will be sufficient for our purpose 
to break it Jicre and tlicre, by shoMiiiif that in some places the 
concluisious do nut folldw from premises, and, i» oilier-, the 
facts are iniiigiiiary. Neither .Mr. AiMiii^iu,nor our readers, must 
suppo-^c that wc adiiiil ihe miiilkIiicss of \ihat our uuirow limits 
compel us to leave iiiiin'tiei d. 

But we must Hrst call allintioii to llio fact, tlKit the ullimutc 
conclusion is to some i\tent ^mtlcipalctl in tlic vadiir division 
of the book, nifficulties r<s|Kttii]^' the Old Testament aud the 
Gospels arose in the period uf the ' Youthful Creed' (pp. 7, 23). 
The ' historical side' of his reli^'ion caused our nullior some sad 
embarrassment, Mliile striviiij; "after a more priuiitive Chris- 
tianity' (p. 54). And before ' Calvinism' was fully ' abandoned,' 
ht- discovered that his religion ' hii<i ahfinjs been I'lniline" 
fp. 102). 'We cannot pass by this discovery without remarking 
how strangely Mr. Newman has misconceived the rclij^lon of 
Paul, lie dwells upon the apostle's resolving not lo know 
' Christ after the flesh' (p. 103), and says that ' of Jesus in the 
flesh, Paul seems to know nothing beyond the bare fact, that he 
did ' humble himself to become man, and pleased not liimseif ' 
(p. ISO). And he takes no notice of the expression of earnest 
determination to know nothing at Corinth 'save Christ, and liim 

vol.. xxviil. I 


crucified ; nor yet of his frequent appeals to Christ as an 
example in Christian duties. The extent of this misconception 
may be appreciated by the following astounding testimony : ' I 
can testify that the Atonement may be dropt out of the Pauline 
religion without affecting its quality' (p. 103). The Atonement 
' dropt out' of his religion who makes that fact the centre and 
sum of all Christian truth ! But, however Mr. Newman has 
misconceived Paul, he has not misrepresented his own feelinff, 
which was that of ' deep distaste for the details of the human life 
of Christ ; ' — ^he ' did not wish for vivid historical realization' 
Cp.l02), — and with such feelings he set out on the inquiry, which 
ended in the discovery announced under the form of the truism 
— ' history is not religion.' We do not see how an inquiry so 
begun could well have had a different conclusion. 

The first results are thus stated : — * The farther I inquired, 
the more errors crowded upon me — ^in history, in chronology, in 
geography, in physiology, in geology ' (p. 217). Mr. Newman 
has omitted astronomy, gardening, medicine, and a host of other 
branches of knowledge. But what has all this to do with the 
real question before us ? The Bible does not undertake to teach 
human science, but, as old Galileo said, ' the way of salvation.' 
Mr. Newman does not actually say that, because of these errors 
in matters upon which it does not pretend to instruct men, it 
proves itself incapable of instructing them upon the subjects 
which it was given to reveal ; but the use he makes of these scien- 
tific mistakes produces that impression on the minds of his readers. 
The only fair conclusion would have been, that the form in 
which he had held the infallibility of the Bible was a mistaken 
one ; the conclusion actually drawn was, that, because of these 
errors, it was to be suspected of containing more^ and upon 
questions of a totally different kind ! 

The inc^uiry passes on to ' Morals.' IMr. Newman had made 
another discovery — ^that the science of ethics, like all other 
sciences, had its own independent basis (pp. 74, 81) ; and pro- 
ceeded on this ground to condemn many things recorded in the 
Old Testament — amongst which is mentioned ' the command to 
Abraham to slay his son ' (p. 114). We never knew that all that 
in the Old Testament * was written for our learning,' was also 
written for our admiration ; nor that Deborah's praise of Jacl 
proved the unfitness of the Bible to teach the commonest 
morality ; and respecting the offering up of Isaac, we discern that 
there is another reason for reprobating it, since the sacrifice was 
not actually performed — it was attempted, 'in obedience to a 
voice in the air ' (p. 149) — of which we must speak afterwards. 
Mr. Newman proceeds : ' Paul and James agree in extolling his 
obedience as a first-rate fruit of faith' (p. 114) ; or 'as indicating 


^^ worthy faith ' (p. 160). Of Paul it is also said, * He 
[ pnuses Abraham, but he certainly would never have imitated 
nim* Cp. 150). The purport of all this is seen at page 218, 
where the writer says, ' When I was thus forced to admit that 
the Old Testament contained immorality, as well as error, and 
fbnnd nevertheless in the writers of the New Testament no 
indication that they were aware of either j was it \vrong in me 
to suspect that the writers of the New Testament were them- 
«dves open to mistake ?' 

What will be thought of this confident challenge, when we say, 
and challenge Mr. Newman to disprove our assertion, that Paul 
does not once allude to the sacrifice of Isaac as a proof of Abra- 
ham's failfi { and that James, who does allude to it, dwells most 
emphatically on the passage, which Paul referred to solely, in 
which Abraham, old and childless though he was, yet believed, 
00 tho promise of God, that his posterity should be as the stars 
in the sky for multitude ? In the Epistle to the Hebrews there 
is, indeed, a eulogy upon Abraham's faith in offering up his son ; 
but it is accompanied by the explanatory remark, 'accoimting 
ihat God was able to raise him up even from the dead ;' which 
would have unfitted it for Mr. Newman's purpose, even had ho 
not expressly stated that he did not regard this epistle as the 
WOT-k gf Paul (pp. 100, 140). 
' At page 126, Mr. Newman writes: — 

•iJnp of ihe most derisive Icsiimonies to iho Olil Tcsliiinciil which 
Ihe New cotilain?, is in John x. 35, where I hardly knew how to allow 
myBcU to characterise the reasoning. The case slimds thus i — The 
82nd Psalm rebukes unjust governors, and at lenK'h says to tliem, 
"1 have said. Ye arc gods, and all of jou are children of the Most 
High : but ye shall die like men, and i'ail like one of the princes." 
la other words — "Though wc are apt to think of rulers a« i/'lhey were 
niperhnman, yet they shall meet the lot of common men." Well, 
bow is (his applied in John ? Jesus has been accused of blasiihemy, 
for saying that "He and his Father are one;" antl, in reply, he 
quofca the verse, " I have said, Yo arc gods," as a sufficient justifica- 
tion for callinji himself Son of God; for "(he Scviptdrc ciinnol be 
broken." I dreaded to precipitate myself into shocking unbelief if I 
followed out the thoughts that this suggested; and (1 know nut )iow) 
for a long time yet put it off. 

This is just a specimen of tlic extraordinary manner in which 
Mr. Newman has been able to dispose of the ' historical side of 
his religion.' The most cursory glance at the passage shows 
that the expression, ' Yo arc gods,' is quoted, not as a ' justifica- 
tion for calling himself Son of Clod,' but as a reply to the 
charge of 'blasphemy.'' It was his accusers who stood upon the 
inviolability of Scripture, and that Scripture designated even 


unjust rulers as gods. This answer of Jesus might have pro- 
duced happier effects on Mr. Newman's mind, had he but 
looked at it a little closer before he formed his conclusion 
respecting it. 

It is well known that ' demoniacal possession ' was regarded 
as the cause of certain diseases in the time of oiu: Lord ; just as 
in all branches of human knowledge, before science comes 
marvel. Our author feels himself * forced to draw conclusions 
of the utmost moment, most damaging to the credit of the 
narrators' (p. 128), from the accounts of the cures of * demoniacs* 
in the first three Gospels ! And thus, because these men held 
an erroneous medical theory, Mr. Newman suffered a * breach ' 
to be made in the credit of the Bible, through which ' a great 
flood of difficulties ' poured in ! Has he ever considered what 
would have been the consequences, if the writers of the Scrip- 
tures had been inspired with correct knowledge upon all the 
various sciences, of their ignorance of which he so unjustly now 
takes advantage against the Bible ? 

Mr. Newman is indignant at Dean Graves's defence of the 
Pentateuch (p. 138) ; what ought we to express at such reasoning 
as this ? — The ' book of the Laid* is said to have h^Qia found in 
the reign of Josiah, under circumstances familiar to all our 
readers ; Mr. Newman concludes from this narrative, that the 
book we call Deuteronomy was * evidently then first compiled^ 
or at least then first produced and made authoritative to the 
nation !' (p. 137.) 

The Fifth Period opens with an investigation, which is thus 
concisely stated : * Ought we in any case to receive moral truth 
in obedience to an apparent miracle of sense? or, conversely, 
ought we ever to believe in sensible miracles because of their 
recommending some moral truth?' (p. 145.) The Bible is 
charged with * vacillations and contradictions^ on this critical 
point (p. 147). And this is the evidence : ' I found in the Bible 
itself — and even in the very same book, as in the Gospel of John 
— great uncertainty and inconsistency on this question. In one 
place, Jesus reproves the demand of a miracle, and blesses those 
y\\\o believe without miracles ; in another, he requires that they 
will receive his doctrine fand submit to it as little children), be- 
cause of his miracles' (pp. 145-6). Farther on he adds: * The 
more I considered it, the more it appeared as if Jesus were solely 
anxious to have people believe in him, without caring on what 
grounds they believed, although that is obviously the main point' 
(p. 146). 

We cannot tell why Mr. Newman did not apply to this case 
his discovery respecting the various significations of the word 
moTiQy which, at pp. iv. and 154, he speaks of, with no czag- 


eerated etnse of ita importance ; for this would have saved him 
from t]]e gratuitous injustice he has done to the words of our 
Lord. But respecting those 'inconsistencies,' in John's Gospel, 
W« challenge Mr. Newman to produce the passages; there is 
notiuDg of the kind in all that narrative ; and the passages in 
the other Gospels, which seem to have suggested the remark, 
are of such a kind, that if they were printed side by side, it 
woald be apparent that under differed circumstances, our Lord 
cpoke differently respecting his miracles ; and that the great 
purpose of miracles, to call attention to htm as a teacher, ia im- 
plied in all. 

In reply to what is said in pp, 147, &c., and 181,&c., we 
only observo, that though we cannot know exactly what the 
Bviarace was upon which the apostles received what they have 
recorded for us, we can put to the proof alt that immediately 
concerns ua in the New Testament as divine truth. It is quite 
idle to talk about what evidence would compel a man kow to 
receive a supernatural revelation ; and worse than idle to sup- 
pose Paley engaged in cross-questioning an apostle. The im- 
presaon left on the mind by these passages, and by some of a 
linilar kind, is not at all favourable to Mr. Newman's impar- 
tiBlity in investigating these momentous questions ; and on minds 
dttt can be unsettled they would tell more than all the argu- 
ments which fh'.' honk contains. 

To deny the possibillly of such a comminiic.ition as that 
which led Abr:iliam to offtT \ip liis son, appears to us (o ho most 
unphilosophical ; but to deny it by implication nud innuendo 
(pp. 149, 150), does not dcservu so respectable a dusii;nation 
as unphiloso]>hical. By all who can soe that in the childhood 
of the world God must needs deal with man in a difftTent man- 
ner from tbiit which is suitable to its i 
sacrifice boini^ commandid by God wil 
it will be Ibrcniost amon^'>t the circi 
which thev ;)ronouncc the jnocecdin 

The cxlravajiant charge asiiinsl Abraham as '(in' heart and in- 
tention, thouifh not in actual ])crfunnaiicL) not less cnihv than 
those- who sacriHccd their cliildnu to MoWb' (p. 1 11 1, will fall 
to the ground throiiirli ils own utter baM-IessuLss. 

"We can onlv -latiec nt a few more points. .Mr. Newman 
says:—' I saw at h ngtli Iiow ii.iten:il>le is th.' ai-iuiieiif drawn 
from the inward hi-Uiry of Chri-tiaiiitv in lavour ol' itj super- 
human origin. Ill laet, llii- n.'ligion' cannot pretend to ,v-'//- 
x»sl-iiiii}uj power' fp. 1-")!)) ; and ' lli<-re i'; nothing in lliis hi^lorv 
[of -hidaism] which we can adduce in proof of pielernalural and 
miraculous agency' I p. IGl). At i>. IMS, he says: ''Ihe liible is 
pervaded by a sentiment, which is implied everywhere — viz., the 



fact of the 

lot be 


tinned; and 



Ihe ense by 

to bo 


t or wrong. 


intimate sympathy of the pwre and perfect Ood with the heart 
of each faithful tvorshipper. This is that which is wanting in 
Greek philosophers^ English Deists, German Pantheists, and all 
formalists.' Now, if this be so, whence comes this all-pervading 
sentiment ? Mr. Newman says it ' does not rest upon the Bible 
or upon Christianity ; for it is a postulate from which eTcry 
Christian advocate is forced to start' (p. 201). That men are 
responsible to God is indeed such a ' postulate ; ' but * intimate 
sympathy * — this is a much higher truth ; and Mr. Newman 
admits tnat the 'Greek philosophers' knew it not. He has 
admitted what would of itself prove the ' superhimian origin' of 
Christianity, and the ' preternatural and miraculous agency' 
exercised in Judaism. Whence, if not from Ood, could such a 
great truth come ? 

Amongst the beneficial effects of Christianity combated, is 
that which it has exercised upon the female sex ; and in dispat- 
ing its influence, Mr. Newman has never alluded to that iUos- 
tration of conju^ love and duty, employed by Paul in his 
Epistle to the Ephesians, from the mutual love of Christ and 
his Church : an illustration which gives as exalted a view of the 
conjugal relation as man can receive. This is not fair. He says, 
too, p. 168, that the New Testament teaches that ' God will 
visit men with fiery vengeance for holding an erroneous creedJ* 
Mr. Newman cannot refer to a single passage which justifies 
this assertion. 

The way in which the authority of the Gospel of John is set 
aside, displays almost the height of recklessness. First of all, at 
p. 173, a suspicion (no more) is thrown out against * the his* 
torical realitv of the discourses ;' then, in the next page, the 
testimony of the Baptist to Jesus, and the conference with 
Nicodemus, are characterised as imaginary, on not even a pre- 
tence of proof; and in p. 175, the miracles he records arc 
rejected on the ground of a series of statements respecting the 
date, &c., of this gospel (one of which, at least, is not correct) ; 
and on the ground of the suspicions before mentioned, which 
are now referred to, as if they had been substantiated &cts ! 
Irving's imitation of the gift of ' tongues ' is not only made the 
ground of disbelieving Paul's account, but also of charyring 
him with ' speculative hallucination in the matter of miracles V 
(p. 180.) What is to be said to such proceedings ? And, 
finally, for we must yet notice * The Soul,' in replying to some 
Unitarian dogmas, Mr. Newman sajrs of the character of our 
Lord, ' if I am to criticise him, by the common standard of 
right and wrong, I find myself driven to conclude that his 
alleged " perfection " is wholly imaginary. It is with perfec- 
tion as with the infallibility of the Church of Rome ; to fail 


in one pointy however small, is to fail altogether ' (p. 210). Of 
course, then^ Mr. Newman is prepared with some one smcdl point 
that shall set this question at rest^ for he knows that on him, as 
the assailant of the received belief, rests the ontis probandu 
By no means ; on the next page, to our amazement, there stands 
these words — ' It is not fair to ask that those who do not admit 
Jesus to be faultless, and the very image of God, will specify 
and establish his faults ! ' And it is so that the Bible and the 
Saviour are set aside ! There is a work by Isaac Taylor, entitled 
' The Process of Historical Proof exemplified and explained.' It 
deserves careful study in connexion with the questions agitated 
by Mr. Newman ; and it suggests to us that if the conclusions 
respecting the incredibility of the Gospels are correctly deduced 
from the contradictions in the difierent narratives, and from the 
* credulous ' character of the writers ; then must ancient history, 
80 fiEEr as it is based on Herodotus, be assuredly ' abandoned ;' 
for the contradictions between his account of the Persian Mon- 
archy and that given by Ctesias (not to mention Xenophon's 
story of the great Cyrus, and the three other accounts of his 
life and exploits which Herodotus heard in Persia, and re- 
jected ; nor yet the legends of fabulists of later date), are 
so great as to defy reconciliation ; and the credulity of both 
historians, their marvels, and invented stories, which no chro- 
nology can arrange, are known to most of our readers. And if 
Herodotus were given up, what must be done with the rest 
of ancient history ? It is a good sign for the controversy that 
is beginning here, that the * reaping sickle ' of * Niebuhr criti- 
cism ' is going out of fashion amongst scholars. 

Our notice of * The Soul ' must be very brief, and confined 
to the great points of the book. The first thing that strikes 
a reader is, that notwithstanding all he has seen in the ' Phases,* 
he meets here with nothing new ; it is just Christianity and the 
gospel again — but without Christ ; whilst in two places Christ 
is spoken of in a way that is inconsistent both with this book 
and with the * Phases ' (PP- 73, 101) ; and throughout, the very 
words of Scriptures are employed for the same purpose, and in 
the same manner, as they are by our most orthodox divines ! 
And yet all the conclusions of the ' Phases ' in both points 
are asserted with new energy, and under new forms ! 

To give to the theological scheme exhibited in * The Soul,' any 
claim to be regarded as something diflferent from, and inde- 
pendent of Christianity, as popularly understood, Mr. Newman 
ought to have been furnished with one instance, at least, of such 
a spiritual progress as he has sketched, where no knowledge had 
been derived from Hebrew or Christian teacher, or from the 
Bible. Or failing that, he should have produced passages from 


profane writings in illustration of his subject, as much to the 

{)oint as those he has quoted from the Bible. But he has not 
eft us to infer from his silence that such quotations could not 
be found ; he has given us a testimony to the Bible, which, con- 
sidering its source, is invaluable. After speaking of the stage 
at which ' sins/ as offences against God, are perceived, he pro- 
ceeds: — 'In this state were the Hebrews from even an earlj 
period ; and God, as abhorring sin, was entitled by them a Holj 
God. Where Polytheism and its degenerate deities were 
honoured, such phrases could not enter the common language 
even of philosophers ; yet in Greece, for instance, philosophers 
of a religious turn undoubtedly held the fundamental notion 
involved in them ' (p. 65). 

Sin, forgiveness, spiritual life ; these are the three chief topics 
of this book, and under each we have wondered as we read that 
the writer, instead of resorting to argumentative processes, as at 
pp. 122, 123, did not take ' God manifest in the flesh' as the one 
thing he needed to bring his speculations into vital relation to 
the soul. Mr. Newman says, in the beginning of the chapter 
on * Hopes concerning Future Life* : — ' To me the discussion loses 
all interest, from the fact that it is not addressed to the soul, but 
to the pure intellect, and is consequently unintelligible to the 
vulgar' (p. 219). This is the very defect of his own theolo- 
gical system. It wants what would make it for those whom he 
designates * the vulgar,' a living reality ; and the gospel has that 
hi Jesus Christ. Both conscience and intellect may make sin be 
seen as a fact ; and yet it may not be felt, — felt as it would be 
felt if wc had the assurance that God is so interested in it, 
as we know he is in human sin. This is ejected by Jesus 
Clirist. It may in the same way be seen that forgiveness can 
be obtained only from God, directly from God; and yet the 
doubt, unassailable by any reasoning, for reasoning cannot per- 
suade the heart, remain — can we, may we go to God for par- 
don t This doubt is prevefited by Jesus Christ. We appeal 
to experience respecting the truth of these statements ; and 
Mr. Newman knows the value of experience in such matters 
(pp. 118, 119); and it is so throughout the whole progress 
delineated here. 

We tippcal to experience, also, against Mr. Newman's mis- 
representation of the question of Mediation, resjKJCting which he 
has done well in this second edition to omit some phrases which 
savoured more of youthful vehemence than of spiritual leal. 
As taught in the gospel, its sole eifect is to enable men to 
come to God, and to persuade them to do so. With Ilomish 
]>t'rvt'rsious of it we have no more to do than with Pagan 
• >(coiKlary (Uiiits.' And ^»e have our author on our side 


againet liimself, if any meHning is to be ascribed to those 
two occasions on which he mentions Christ, referred to above ; 
■nc! in pp. 78, 79, where the explanation which he gives of 
Paul's doctriiie is one which we have already remarked upon. 
Mr. Newman ought to have noticed the allusion to this truth in 
1 John ii. 1, since it aflbi'ds a view of mediation, which truly 
pondered might have kept him from much that he has said in 
opposition to it. 

But let the theological system of ' The Soul ' be subjected to 
tbc Amble test to which the gospel of Jesus Christ has been 
•objected, and if it can abide that, we may feci ourselves called 
upon to wonder as much as if ' one of the old prophets had risen 
from the dead.' Its reception amongst cultivated minds we do 
not dnuht i that is, if it could be made known to such as those 
Greek philosophers, of whom Mr. Newman so often speaks, they 
ironld be able to eater into and appreciate its beauty and spiri- 
tuality, and to approve the ideal it presented for the endeavours 
of men ; yet it niii^t ^ippcar dl.^tillll^■ of ' ci'Viiiiiiij'/ — a devout 
imagination, and no more. But let it be preached as a gosjiel to 
the poor, the ignorant, the brutalized, the ferocious ; and when 
it has gathered souls to repose beneath the fatherly love of God 
from amongst them, as the gospel has, or even subdued one 
Africaner, we will allow that it has claims on our regard beyond 
what we can sec at present. 

These are the peculiar difficulties under which Mr. Newman's 
scheme lies ; for tlic proof that it is not removed out of the reach 
of the objections that lie against the gospel, we only refer to the 
•reply to philosophy' (pp. 118—133;; and therewith h-avc it. 

beside the view wliich we have taken of these worki^, they 
may aUu he regarded as cnrryini; on the controversy of reason 
against f;uth, or authority, originating in the insolul'ile diflicul- 
ticn which the universal conditions of luinKUiity, and the es^^eiitial 
nature of religion, render inevitable both for the deism of Mr. 
Froude, and for the Itomaiiism of the elder Newmnii. Each age 
attempts the solution in it= own w;\y ; rnul eafli iTiilividual, also, 
consciously or unconsciouslv ; but too iVequently either by en- 
deavouring to extiugtiish the natural light, or else, plunging into 
intellectual datkne^-, by rt fusing to give 'to faith the iliings 
that are faith's." I'or ourselves, we cannot imagine I'aitli, as if 
sightless, led through the mysteries of the universe by the hand 
of Iteason; neither can we Iniiigiiie that no brightness illumines 
her face, but such as is reileeted from its beams. To assent to 
such representations, however beautiful they may be, appears lo 
ns to be giving up the fundamental principle of the wliole con- 
troversy — allowing the re:l•^unablcne^s of such speculations as 
those which have passed in review before us. A\'c would rather 


assign to Reason the task of discerning the source whence the 
obscurities which surround us arise, and of rebuking the pretences 
of falsely assumed authority ; while Faith, g^ng upward with 
eagle eyes, receives from the fountain of heavenly wisdom those 

' Truths that wake to perish never ;' 

which Beason must apply to the grand and noble purposes in the 
daily life of men, for which alone they are given. 

We have already alluded to the phase of avowed hostifitj to 
Christianity presented by these and similar books. It is not a 
little remarkable that it should, on one side, assume the same 
form which characterised the heresies of the first centuries. 
The orthodox fathers then combated and silenced their opponents 
by appealing to ' catholic consent,' which they also held. It 
wiU not, perhaps, be so easy to find a common ground of truth, 
on which we may meet these new opponents ; unless it be that 
which is taken m ' The Soul.' But we do most earnestly de- 
precate the attempt to stifle the inquiries, which these books are 
rather the sign than the cause of, by speaking contemptuously of 
such as find no satisfaction in what satisfied Leibnitz, and Newton, 
and Locke. Such ridicule is unphilosophical ; for it overlooks 
the fact that, beside the idola specits et tribus, which mislead the 
soul in its inquiry after its relations to the spiritual world, there 
are yet more serious hindrances put in its way by the idola fori 
et theatri of its age. It woidd be as well to bid men still defend 
church towers from the thunder-stroke by the tolling of baptized 
bells, as was done before lightning conauctors were known, as 
to command them to drive away the deluding spirits of the 
present day by the words which exorcised those that haunted 
men in former times. The whole world of mind is changed from 
what it was ; and most of what was written in the age of Leibnitz 
and Locke is as irrelevant to the questions now agitated as the 
Apologies of Tertidlian and Justin Martyr. Nor is it less 
unwise than unphilosophical ; for they that submit to ridicule 
can never do much honour to the cause they adopt ; whilst, with 
most, such treatment of difficulties which they know to be real 
must lead them to exaggerate their importance, and if ever they 
arc overcome, it must be by an agony of conflict, that no one 
would wish to involve another's soul in. Kespecting this new, 
or rather renewed hostility, however, the question it has brought 
forward, as far as we understand it, is, the general relation of the 
Bible to religion ; or the fact, ground, and extent of its authority 
in matters of faith. Some of the thoughts we have expressed 
may, perchance, assist in calling forth an anru'er ; but, doubtless, 
many an efibrt will be made before the true and satisfactory 
reply is gained. 


Meanwhile, it i» well to be asaored, as we may be after care- 
falljF considering the most vigorous attempts which our day 
has witnessed against the gospel, and calling to mind the hosts 
of baiEed adversaries of earlier days, that the truth we hold is 
inexpugnable to every attack ; and that no shade of contempt 
can even seem to darken it, save such as falls from the faithless- 
ness of those who rank themselvcg amongst its serrants and friends. 
And as it cannot be overthrown, so neither con it cease to unfold 
new and grander aspects of God's relations to man, nor to send 
ibrth streams of elevating and purifying thought and feeling, 
which shall pervade the whole mass of society, and cause error 
and wrong of every kind to die out, and to establish, as the one 
abiding and universal reality and form of Christian truth and 
Ufc — Jksus Christ, 

Abt. II, — Pictureaque Sketches of Greece and Ticrhey. By Aubrey dc 
Vere. Two Vols. London: BcntJcy, 1850. 

There is a power of enchantment in the pen of the classical 
traveller in classical lands, when the spirit of poetry breathes 
through his mind and tints his pictures with that richness of 
colour always so charming, but so seldom seen. To equip a 
yacht and furnish it with all the luxury of a sybaritic tourist's 
taste ; to lounge on silken cushions, and to glide through the 
blue seas of the south, with calm and cloudless skies above, 
and a soft atmosphere around ; to visit the Acropolis of Athens, 
the plain of Maratlion, and the waters of Salamis ; to muse over 
the tomb of Agamemnon, and ' sigh o'er Delphi's long-descrtcd 
shrine,' — all this is within the ability of any guntlo wanderer, 
blessed with riches and an inclination for travelling. Most 
persons also possess the ability to detail on paper, to print and 
to publish an account of their rambles ; but, although books 
are abundant, good ones are few, and we welcome with the 
more warmth one that is characterised by unusual features 
of merit. Aubrey dc Verc is no common-place traveller. His 
mind is imbued with a spirit of classical romance ; he wan- 
ders among the wrecks of the heroic ages, in companion- 
ship with the memory of their prosperous times, and pictures 
the scenes ho saw with the pencil of an able and tasteful 
artist. His work is full of originality. He trod in the stops 
of ten thousand tourists ; but novelty sprang up under his 


feet, because he has the power to give form and life to that 
which in the eyes of the vulgar is without interest or beauty. 
With an acute eye, he observes the characteristics of the people, 
as well as the features of the country, and without taking refuge 
from his own barrenness of thought in stale historical records, 
weaves into his narrative a chain of allusions that link the land- 
scapes of the present day with those of the past. His style 
is graceful and clear, his language is light and lively, while the 
colour of his opinions, on most subjects, is such as claims our 
sympathy. Proceeding, as we do, therefore, to borrow from 
his relation matter for the entertainment of our readers, we 
assure them that these two neat volumes deserve a degree of 
attention not usually bestowed on the relations of a tourist in 
the south and east of Europe. 

It was the month of January when Mr. Aubrey de Verc 
found himself steering down the Adriatic, towards Corfii. It 
may suggest an idea of the climate in that delicious region to say 
that the air was then as warm and balmy as in our English June. 
A brilliant moon reflected her beauty m waters of a dark blue 
shot with silver by the light, except where the islands rose above 
the surface, purpled by the expiring tints of day, and threw their 
shadows over the sea. Such was the approach to the Grecian 
Isles, which next morning broke on the traveller's view in all 
their variety of hue and outline ; some lofty, rocky, vine-covered 
and wildly picturesque ; others low, gentle, broken by beautiful 
bays, and covered with soft verdure. Olive groves stud them in 
all directions ; the grape in summer mantles over the hills, and 
even in winter the valleys are filled with the odours of mint, 
thyme, and other aromatic plants, with blossoming myrtles, and 
golden orange groves. The Archipelago rejoices in a luxury of 
rich and strangely blended beauties ; the coasts are here green 
to the water's edge, and there rimmed with white rocks, over 
which the sea scatters itself in showers of whiter foam. The 
pellucid clearness of the atmosphere lends its greatest charm to 
this exquisite landscape. Not the lightest and most airy mist 
intercepts the vision as it ranges from the summit of the Corfu 
hills, over the Archipelago. Land and water lie below, clearly 
defined with the irregular green islands, and the waves flowing 
among them. No region of the world can equal this in loveli- 
ness. The north is grand and dreary ; the east is glaring and 
magnificent ; the west is full of quiet and varied beauty ; but the 
south is soft and sweet, deliciously warm and sunny, breathed 
over by the balm of perpetual summer, enticing to repose, and 
wrapping the mind in the mantle of an alluring and seductive 

Greece is still pre*eminent; — but, the Greeks ! They possess 

indeed the forma and features of the ancient nation, except where 
the inilaeDce of contact with their rulers has degenerated their 
bodies as it has debased their souls ; but the spirit of the race is 
gone. Falsehood is the characteristic of the loniana. Seldom, 
says our author, do they, even by accident, tell the truth, and 
they are never ashamed of being convicted in a lie. Slavery 
has done its worst, and our rule has not yet raised them from 
Uicir fallen condition. The traveller's sketch of them is in- 
teresting : — 

* The Ionian Qreeks are greatly deficient in industry. They do not 
care to improve tbeir condition ; their wants are few, and they will do 
tittle work beyond that of picking up the olives which fall from the 
tne. These the women carry home En basketa, almost all the labour 
(ailing on them, while the men idle away their everlasting unhalloived 
bolyday, loUing stories, walking in procession, or showing as mach 
Aploffiacy in acme bargain about a a^oU as a Kussian ambassador 
ooold display while settling the affairs of Europe with Lord Palmerston. 
Their dress is eminently picturesque. On thtit heads they wear 

fasten a wide white zone ; and their Irowsera, which do not descend 
below the knee, are so large, that, fastened tofcothcr lit the mid-leg, 
they have all the effect of flowing drapery, tlieir colour in general 
being crimson.-— Vol. i. p. II. 

The traveller soon loft Corfu to vi^it the centre of ancient 
civilization — Athens, In journeying thither, he reminds us that 
the South i'i not a land of unchantrju'r ■•unsliinc ; for thi^e blue 
skies occasionallv daikcn witli unt^xpLCted 'tornis, tliouuli even 
in these tlicre is a rielincss niul beauty at once fa>cin:ilin',' and 
terrible. The hi'aveiis become purple, atul the -iv-.y Iii'Cumcs 
preen ; but the tempest coniin^^ i.ii >u.lilt niy, as swiltly departs, 
and the laiid-capc sjlow^, as l)ris;litlv ii- beliire. Alter a visit to 
I'atras, wbere an insult was hiuh-'dlleied to a liriti>li subject, 
for which Lord I'alnur.'^ton h;i^ crilbreed redress, Mr.deVere 
sailed in sipht of tlic wliite mountains of the Morua, over the 
immortal waves that saw tlic li;,'lit of Lepatilos Ut Alliens, wJiere 
the ijreat Acropolis first claimed his attention. IHs description of 
this tomb of antiquity is (.■ntliusiastic and graceful, tlioiii^h some- 
whit too prolonKcd, considering tliat the picture has been already 
so freijuentlv painted. We shall not linger, however, among 
antiquities. We possess a work which has amassed all that is 
known of ancient Greece, its people, and its civilization ; hut the 
sketches of a modern traveller are valuable, as contrasting witli 
the scenes of ancient times. Our author was witness to a festival 
near the city, to celebrate the commencement of Lent. 'I iic 
people thronged out, attired in brilliant costumes, and danced 


in happy revelry, with that lightness of heart characteristic of 
slaves forgetting their slavery : — 

' In the midst of the dancers were numberless companies of peasants 
seated round their rural feast. Each group had its thick and many- 
coloured carpet, on which the guests placed themselves cross-legged in 
a circle, and ate, as Homer says, until their hearts were satisfied. 
Numerous shouts of inextinguishable laughter rose up also among 
them from time to time ; and many a trick was exhibited, and many 
wild pranks played, but without any admixture of vulgarity. Along the 
field, and about the tufted banks of the Ilissus, horsemen galloped with 
fury altogether Indescribable. Sometimes they advanced in a troop, 
and suddenly breaking like a rocket, dispersed and scoured the plain in 
every direction. Sometimes a single horseman darted forwud like 
an arrow shot from a bow, and passed in front of the charg^g column, 
or threaded his way among its ranks with the skill of a skater, who 
describes a figure of eight. They sat far back on their horses, as their 
forefathers sat, if we can trust the witness of ancient sculptor, and as 
the cavalry of the East sit to tliis day ; their scarlet caps and golden 
tassels— often entangled in their long hair — gleaming in the sun, and 
their white kilts blown across the horse's shoulder, or streaming be- 
hind ; often they flung javelins at each other, and that with such 
hearty good will, that the effort not seldom went near tossing them off 
their little white horses.* These horses had caught the madness of 
the hour ; and though no princess, like Andromache, had fed them with 
com soaked in generous wine, they flashed past us with feet that hardly 
touched the ground, little sharp heads pointed into the air, and pro- 
truding eyes ; fleet as the wind, and so slight and slender, that a wind, 
apparently, might have blown them away.* — Ih. p. 130. 

Our author describes a surly Scotchman who was a spectator 
of this scene. He remarked with melancholy emphasis, that a 
people so senseless and volatile could not have a claim to liberty, 
and upon this Mr. de Yere takes occasion to remark, that in tms 
country the people may safely be entrusted with self-government ; 
because they are so absorbed in industry as to demand very little 
of this cheap commodity. We altogether agree with him, and 
recommend the reflection to our readers. The Greeks have been 
degraded by oppression ; the English have been elevated by 
freedom; and while the former have been so debased as to be in- 
capable of enjoying, at present, the priceless boon of complete 
liberty, the latter nave been taught the lesson, that as power 
spreads among the people the prosperity of the country in- 
creases. We have not yet reached the limit of our progress, and 
we agree with Mr. de Vere, that self-government is the only 

* This sentence is of such peculiar and incorrect construction, that we can- 
not pass it by unnoticed in an author who has evidently studied writing at 
an art. 


instrument with which we can work our way to perfect civiliza- 
tion. The religious condition of Greece is an illustration of our 
theory. There, faith is a form, piety a mummery, devotion a 
show — ^because the nation is under the heel of a despotism — ^the 
more destructive because it is petty and contemptible. The 
kingling that sits on the throne is not fit company even for the 
rest of his German brethren, for if they are more colossal in their 
crimes, he is more paltry in his meanness. 

If in a festival without the city of Athens, you behold illustra- 
tions of Hellenic degeneracy, within its streets they are still 
more abundant. Temple and market, column and firieze — ^all 
these remain as the records, of its republican splendour; but 
caf^s crowded with low gossips, restaurants full of loungers, 
theatres, and hotels ; gambling rooms, echoing with the inces- 
sant rattle of billiard balls and dice — ^these are among the 
features added by our modern civilization. There is also 
another against which our author lays down his delibe- 
rate veto, the nuisance of the all-seeing English traveller who 
scratches his name on the walls of temples ; scribbles trash in 
the traveller's book at the inns ; grumbles at every bill, and 
boasts of the extortions of which he has been made the victim ; 
objects to the ruins, because they are unlike the wreck of an 
English abbey ; and wonders at the chaste beauty of Athena's 
temple, which he places in invidious comparison with West- 
minster Abbey, the new House of Lords, or the National 
Gallery ! One of these individuals, remarkable for his sagacity 
and his knowledge, exclaimed to a friend of our author's, * What 
liars these Greeks are 1 and what fools, too, to fancy they can 
persuade us that they defeated the Persians at Marathon, when 
we know that it was the Turks that fought there, and badly 
enough they did fight.' Another grievously troubled Mr. De 
Vere, during his reflections among the Acropolis, by specula- 
tions on the approaching dinner; just as the celebrated gen- 
tleman did, when gazing on one of the loveliest Italian land- 
scapes, he turned to his friend, who was absorbed in poetical 
reverie, ' Beautiful, isn't it ?' * Past fancy,' cried the poet. 
* And wouldn't it be improved,' continued the cockney, ' by a 
beefsteak smothered in onions ! ' 

Precisely of this class were the obnoxious tourists at Athens ; 
but all were not of the same order, while some of the residents 
had become altogether classical, through breathing an air so 
richly impregnated with the memories of ancient time. A de- 
lightful picture is afibrded of the residence of an English settler 
near Athens. He possessed an estate of considerable size, partly 
wooded with magnificent oak trees, partly intersected by innu- 
merable rocky ravines, partly covered with groves of pine and of 


orange trees, and partly glittering with a resplendent variety 
of green and flowering shrubs, of rich odour, and still richer 
colours : — 

' A large part of the heath is already turned into com land, but Ceres, 
like some other recent potentates, can claim only to be a constitutional 
monarch here, and her sway is not only limited but ill assured. The 
anemonies and narcissi when I visited the spot, forced their way 
unceremoniously up among the green blades of springing com. Re- 
trenched into one comer, a little phalanx of jonquils held its ground 
against whole armies of barley and oats ; and irregular squadrons of 
crocus and wild tulips effected a second lodgment in the newly-peo- 
pled land, or lingered long in the rear with a Parthian flight, scatter- 
ing their seeds behind them instead of arrows. My friend led me in 
triumph through piles of wild peas and plums, grafted with scions of 
a gentle kind ; brought me to the trenches lately opened for the vines ; 
boasted of the obdurate thorns he had eradicated, and of the subject 
almond trees he had admitted to the freedom of his domain. ** The 
mighty we slaughtered, the lovely we spared ;** nor indeed could the 
sternest improver who had ever seen those almonds blossoming in 
their bowers, sometimes white as snow, sometimes rose coloured, as 
the same snow when flushed with sunset, condemn them to destruction 
for the sake of supplying their places with trim currant bushes.* — lb. 
p. 175. 

From this pleasant picture, the author speedily turns to the 
consideration of one far less pure and agreeable — the bishops of 
the Greek Church. Preferment, he tells us, is among the 
rich sees of the East very seldom the reward of exalted pietv, 
or profound knowledge. The bishops of the poorer Church m 
the South still pant for translation to them, for the influence 
of Mammon among them, as among others of their class, is 
sufficiently strong. When the purity of religion is mocked by its 
professors, it is difficult to restrain the language of our strictures; 
for if there be one spectacle more revolting to Christianity than 
another, it is to see a man professing devotion to God, and 
zeal in his spiritual mission upon earth, chasing wealth with 
ardour, panting for purple and flne linen, sighmg for pomp 
and power, and when these hare been attained, exulting in 
their possessions in a spirit of most unchristian pride. As such, 
Mr. de Verc, rather indirectly than explicitly, describes the 
bishops of the Eastern Church, among whom those in Greece are 
anxious to be transplanted. 

We leave this painful subject, not to follow our author throngh 
the historical and moral reflections, in which he somewhat 
too copiously indulges, nor through his descriptions of the 
antiquities of Greece, which are, however, full of interest, but 
into the second volume of this narrative, which is replete with 


entertainment. The description of the journey to Delphi affords 
opportunity for sketches of landscape, which are occasionally 
exquisitely drawn, for the author's pen possesses that power 
and grace necessary to the realization of such a picture. The 
glories of southern scenery, with its luxury of flowers, its rich 
green and exhaustless variety, require sucn a writer to depict 
them. The narrative aflfords, indeed, a superb idea of the natural 
aspect of Greece, and as such is eminently valuable. What 
Linton is in his unequalled painted landscapes, with all their 
rich colouring and magical effect, De Vere may claim to be in 
a literary point of view ; and we regret that our limits forbid 
us from transferring many of these sketches to our own pages. 

As we are now, however, in search of a social picture, we light 
with pleasure on a very admirable one supplied by the author. 
It is the description of a popular game played by some boatmen 
on the road from Delphi. The writer says : — 

• I remember thinking this sport a dangerous precedent in revolu- 
tionary times. A number of men ranged themselves in a ring, while 
another set clambered up, and stood on their shoulders. Matters being 
thus prepared, the ring below began to spin round on its own axis, with 
a gradually increasing velocity ; the exalted personages above maintain- 
ing their position as long as they could, but being, of course, one by 
one, tossed from their uneasy pedestals ere long. The dethroned 
powers then took their places beneath, those who had previously 
supported them mounting their shoulders.* — Vol. ii. p. 36. 

Of this opportunity the author makes use to utter a happy 
sneer at the petty despots of the continent, who cheat their people 
with the name of a constitution, and uphold their own authority 
by all the wretched devices of a miserable tyranny. He declares 
this game revolutionary and dangerous ; * and if I were a con- 
stitutional king, I would discourage it to the utmost of my 

These occasional expressions of genuine feeling betray Mr. 
de Vere's secret convictions ; but before we leave Greece and 
accompany him to the Golden Horn, we must observe, that 
though he is a pleasant traveller, he is not a politician, nor is he 
so well versed in the history of the manners, customs, and institu- 
tions of ancient Greece, as he presumes himself to be. He has 
read books, and knows much, but either his mind is not suffi- 
ciently comprehensive to grasp those splendid political theories 
which exalted the Athenians above all the world, or his acquain- 
tance with the institutions of ancient Hellas is not sufficiently 
enlarged to enable him to appreciate them in all their splendour 
and brilliance. When he travels again, let him abstain from 
politics, and we shall welcome his work with the greatest gratifi- 

VOL. xxviii. u 


cation ; but his arguments against the democratic principle, as 
the ground of Atnenian precedence, are not more puerile than 
they are out of place. It is remarkable how a poetical writer 
will flourish on the subject of liberty in one page, and deprecate 
its establishment with equal ardour in another. 

We shall, at some future time, be brought to believe that the 
voyage to Constantinople is unpleasant ; that lazarettos are hot 
and crowded places ; that mendicant pilgrims are dirty and 
disagreeable ; that the streets of Smyrna are narrow and dark ; 
that camels bear huge loads on their backs ; and that the first 
view of the city of Sultans is magnificent; because, in the leaves 
of a thousand books from the pens of a thousand travellers we 
find the facts confirmed, and pretty nearly in the same language. 
Mr. Baxter lately made the discoveries, and described them in 
a most lively manner. Mr. Albert Smith has also ventured out 
of his natural element, in the cider-ccUars and saloons of Lon- 
don, to carry his vulgarity into Constantinople ; but the scene 
has not been so thoroughly exhausted that we are induced to 
pass over a brilliant sketch of it aflforded by Mr. de Vere : — 

' The view of Constantinople from the sea is the most splendid of all 
pageants presented to human eye by the metropolitan cities of the 
earth. The vulgar detail of street and alley is hidden from sight, and 
you are greeted, instead, by an innumerable company of mosques, 
minarets, palaces, dome -surmounted baths, and royal tombs— the sunny 
brilliancy or splendid colouring of which is in some degree mitigrated 
by the garden-trees that cluster around them, and the cypress forests 
that skirt the hills, and here and there descend into the city. That 
city is built upon a series of hills ; and so intensely is a fair prospect 
prized by a Turk, that, on every commanding spot, the house of some 
rich man is placed, with its gilded lattices gleaming through a leafy 
screen. So large and numerous are the gardens, that the effect is less 
that of trees scattered amid a city, than of a city built in a forest 
but partially cleared. This green veil, however, softens rather than 
obscures the apparition that lurks behind, the vast and countless white 
domes shining broadly and placidly through it, while the gilded tops 
of the minarets glitter on high, like the flames that hover above 
the tapers in Italian cathedrals. Multitudes of houses in Constan- 
tinople are painted green, red, or blue — a circumstance that added 
to the gorgeousncss of the spectacle which met my eye, as well as 
the fact that spring had already breathed upon the plane-trees and the 
almonds, which were putting forth abundantly their fresh green leaves, 
and their blossoms, pure as the foam of the sea.* — lb. p. 107. 

There are five cities, our author tells us, in Europe, whose 
architectural beauty is displaved amid a profusion of Nature's 
unadorned graces — Naples, Venice, Genoa, Edinburvh, and 
Constantinople — among which the last, in position and aspect. 


"passes all the rest. Every importniit building it containB is 
distinctly visible from the water ; for, as the traveller steers up 
towards the Golden Horn, the city rises before him in successive 
stages of beauty, resplendent with all the brilliant hues of 
Eastern magnificence. The appearance, however, is as delusive 
as the mirage in the dcserC Enter the streets, and the illusion 
vanishes. They are narrow, irregular, steep, ill-paved, and 
dirty; composed of ruinous, badly built, and mean houses, or 
long sweeps of dead wall enclosing the gardens. The whole 
wears the aspect of poverty, glittering with a few gilded patches, 
indicative of the infamous distinction between rich and poor. 
Women glide by in white veils and robes ; the more wealthy 
roll along in comn-shapcd chariots, gloomily draped, and drawn 
by osen ; men in sombre robes, with the solemn pipe between 
theiz lips, pass and repass, through the dull streets, towards the 
oTDwdeid and glittering l»tzaars, where a. new world opens to 
view. There all is brilliance, vfirirty. and beautv. To every 
trade ;. -cji.n-^ito division is allotUd, wliu'li iiicrfa>iy tl.r cH^ct of 
the whole, A splendid armoury occupies a large portion of the 
greatest bazaar. Helmets and shields, dented with the fury of 
many a long-contested field, glistening spears, Indian bows, far- 
famed blades of Damascus, Egyptian scimitars, with every 
accoutrement for man and horse, often embossed with gold and 
crusted with gems, arc displayed in dazzling array upon the 
walls. From these you may pass into ' a meadowy region of Cash- 
mere shawls,' enough to drapt.' all the beauty of Europe, or 
girdle all the fair forms of the East. Thence'you journey into 
a place where, if you have any good looks, they are reflected 
from a thousand mirrors, of all sizes, enchased with pearls, with 
handles of beaten gold. These are the favourite toys of the 
women, who thus appreciate their o«n loveliuess when arrayed 
in the riches of the dcjiaitment that follows. There soft muslins 
and shining silks are displayed, stiti' brocaded stuffs, wrought in 
the unrivalled looms of the East, with hues of inconceivable 
v.triety and brillianee ; besides gauny mantles, light as air, almost 
invinilile in their fi-.agilc delicacy, e.xeept where in golden tracery 
are woven into them the maxims of piefy, or the sentiments of 
passion. ISfvoiid tlR■^L' you enter a spot radiant with countless^blaziti,:; with jewellery, ' separate or enwreathcd in neck- 
laces and rosaries, or inlaid in precious cups, rich plate hangings 
for horses, and head-dresses for their riders.' 

liutwc cannot detail the weallli of these luxurious stores — the 
Indian spices, the gums, the drugs, the precious syrups, oils, 
and creams, the delicious perfumes, the preserved and dried 
fruits, with the delicate porcelain that adds flavour to its rich 
contents, and all the multitude of commodities exposed here 

u a 


to tempt the passer-by. Too often do they tempt in vain, for 
where a sovereign like the Sultan of Turkey reigns, his people 
must number among themselves many of the race of the un- 
fortunate. An anecdote of this despot will illustrate his cha- 
racter. It is most characteristic of an oriental tyrant — and offers 
a commentary on the theory of divine right in kings. 

Soon after his accession to power, the new sultan entered on a 
career of reform, opposed to the pride and the prejudices of the 
Turks. To arrest him in this dangerous course was the object of 
the Ulemas, or religious chiefs, who resolved, if possible, to work 
on the young despot's mind by exciting his superstitious fears. 
One day, as he was on his knees, according to custom, in his 
father's tomb, he heard a low voice reiterating from beneath, 
* I burn, I burn.' The next time he prayed there, the same 
terrible words were uttered in the earth, and none other. The 
Sultan applied to the chief of the Imaums for an interpretation 
of this strange thing, and was told that his father had been a 
great reformer, and was now probably suffering the penalty of his 
imprudent course. 

The young sovereign scarcely crediting his own ears, then, 
sent his brother-in-law to pray on the same spot, and afterwards 
several others of his household. They went, and each time the 
words * I burn,' Founded in their ears, as though from the grave 
of the buried king. 

At length the oultan proclaimed his intention of going in a 
procession of state to his father's tomb. He went with a magnifi- 
cent train, accompanied by the principal doctors of Mohammedan 
law. Mr. de Vere shall tell the rest of the story : — 

* Again^ during his devotions, were heard the words, '• I bum," and 
all except the Sultan trembled. Rising from his prayer carpet, he 
called in his guards, and commanded them to dig up the pavement 
and remove the tomb. It wan in vain that the muftis interposed, re- 
probating so great a profanation, and uttering dreadful warnings as to 
its consequences. The Sultan persisted. The foundations of the tomb 
were laid bare, and in a cavity skilfully left among them was found, not 
a burning sultan, but a der\'ise. The young monarch regarded him for 
a time fixedly and in silence, and then said, without any further remark, 
or the slightest expression of anger, '' You bum ? you must cool in the 
Bosphorus.** In a few minutes more, the dervisc was in a bag, and 
the bag immediately after was in the Bosphorus ; while the Saltan 
rode back to his palace, accompanied by his household and ministers, 
who ceased not all the way to ejaculate — ** Mashallah, Allah is great 
— there is no God but God, and Mohammed is the prophet of God." 
—7ft. p. 140. 

Our author, after some further sketches of Constantinople, 
and a description of the far-famed Valley of Sweet Waten^ 


de«cribefi a pprsonal adventure wliich is too long to extract, 
uvd too good to abridge. There ia, perhaps, not sufficient of 
tbifl kind of material in the book, but what Mr. dc Vere wants 
in one way he makes up in another, so that his work possesses 
many, if not all of the features that characterise a good narrative 
of travel in familiar scenes. We have borrowed from it colours 
for a sketch in outline of Grecian and Turkish scenery and 
civilization, to afford the reader Bome conception of these curious 
lands. Full of beauty in themselves, they are hallowed by 
history and romance ; while the recent events in the Dardanelles 
and at the Pirxus, lend them a present interest of an universal 
character. The reader who would gain an idea of the seas and tho 
shores lately ranged by a British squadron, in vindication of the 
rights of British subjects — in the one place against the ferocity 
of a barbarian despot, and in the other against the insolence of 
a petty kingling, can do no better than entertain himself with 
the lively and instructive travels of Mr. Aubrey de Vere. 



Asj. m.— TAi- Viryin Wiihw. A Flay. By Henry T.ijlor, Author 
of ' Philip Van Artcvdile.' London ; I.ongmiins. 

Hf.vry Taylor, if not a name that can 'start a spirit,' i'cpre«cnts, 
nevertheless, a highly respectable spoeimon of genuine culture, 
supplemented by a real touch of genius and groat artistic skill. 
He is the author of authors — the admired of those who arc 

im and 
s calm. 

admired partially themselves— 
and rising generation, nor t 
pressure' of his niiiid to ttn; 
simple, yet clabora'e — ' cliafi 
pions — elegant and arti-tic — c 
feeling and freshness. His 
sparingly over his pnges ; wl 
we will not venture to 
ample, i, 

the I 
likely to 

u-itc of c 
the ' 

na vit . 

void of poetical 
nwn somewhat 
• fro 


, lliev (/() r\ //rmt way. One 
Fair,'' llescribin- the various 
s of the wind in various fiws, has bwu paraded in all sorts 
and sizes <il periodicals, from the ' Edinburgh Review ' down- 
wards. Il i- certainly very beaatiful, but we are very much 
mistaken if any one pa^-e of ' feslus " do iiot contain ten things 
equally fine. And iiere !ut us glance at one of the many ridicu- 
lous delusions of tlic criticism of the day. J low often do we 

294 Taylor's virgin widow. 

hear the critic saying of such and such a work, ' It is very bril- 
liant ; but it is too brilliant — there are too many fine things in 
it ;' and close by quoting the hackneyed words, 

* We doubt, because so thick they lie, 
If they be stars that paint the galaxy ?' 

Now the secret of this sophistry seems to lie in the confusion 
between the truly and the falsely fine. Can too many realty new 
and beautiful things ever be said on any subfect ? Can there be 
too many stars in an unbounded universe ? If artistic perfection 
is to be sought at the price even of one consummate pearl — 

{)erhaps the seed-pearl of a system of truth — were it not better 
ost ? Even were it only a truly beautiful image, should it be 
permitted to perish ? — for does not every beautiful image repre- 
sent at least the bright edge or corner oi a truth ? No fear that 
books, all beautiful and full of meaning, shall be unduly multiplied. 
As well be alarmed for the advent of perfect men in thousands. 
The finest writers in the world have ever been the richest 
Witness Jeremy Taylor, Shakspere, Milton, and Burke. It is 
the age of barren thinkers that finds out that the past has been 
too tropical and luxuriant ; and wishes that Job had clipped his 
Behemoths and Leviathans, and Isaiah let blood ere he uttered 
his terrible rhapsodies against Babylon and Egypt. Our age, 
encouraged by the example of Germany, and by its own small 
endowment of originality, in seeking to crown Art is fast de- 
throning Nature. Not only is a book, in general, more admired 
because its faults are few, than because its beauties are many ; 
but the thick glories which God may have dropped upon it are 
treated as blemishes, its * many crowns ' are regarded as proud 
and putrid ulcers. And, with regard to the vaunted couplet 
quoted above, we must just remember that the nebular hypothesis 
is exploded ; they are stars which paint the galaxy, and let those 
who nave had * doubts ' on the subject carry those doubts home, 
and warm with them their beds or bosoms, if they can. 

False finery we abhor — of it we cannot have too little ; but too 
much truth or beauty, why let us complain of it when we have 
had a spring day too delightful, a sunbeam too delicately spun, 
an autumn too abundant. Why are chaste and chary writers 
praised ? Not because they keep back anything that is good, 
but because they do not seek to supply its place oy what is false 
and elaborately bad. They have few genuine gems, but they 
place and they wear them well. 

The ' Virgin Widow ' does not labour under a redundancy of 
beauties, nor shine with a deep glow of genius. It displays 
little metaphysical depth or tendency, and no unity or concentra- 
tion of purpose. But it is cool and fresh, as the shadowy side 

Taylor's virgin widow. 295 

oi a cherry-leaf — it breatheB a healthy, manly, cheerful spirit ; 
it tells an interesting tale in a clear and intelligible manner ; its 
characters, with no outstanding originality, are all marked — 
human, well-defined ; its language is classic, yet tinged with the 
hues of ' old romance ;' and now and then there springs up a 
fine gushing well of pure poetry. 

lu comparing it with the two finest of recent dramatic poems — 
' Galileo Galilei,' and the ' Boman ' — we find that ' Galileo ' dis- 
plays a subtler reflection ; a reflection almost diteasedly subtle, 
without much more proper poetry, and with leas interest and 
intelligibility of story. The ' Roman ' has a world more of 
earnestness, eloquence, and genius ; but the ' Virgin Widow ' 
is superior to both in point of sweetness, maturity, sustained 
interest, and artistic skill. Taylor never could, however, at any 
period of his life, have written the better passages of ' Galileo,' 
or the worse passages in the ' Boman ;' and when these young 
wiiterB have reached their perfect day, they are likely to pro- 
duce works ;is I'ipc, and iofinitclj' more rich riiul profoimd, tliaii 
the ' Virgin Widow.' 

Wc have not room to analyze the story. It is very interesting, 
but seldom exciting, and harrowing never. His object, as 
avowed in the preface, is not to sting, but to please ; and he has 
in this completely succeeded. You have pleasure less in degree, 
but alike in kind, to that derived from some of Shakspcrc's mild 
secondary plays, sucli as, ' As you like it,' ' Two Gentlemen of 
Verona,' &c., which range like moons around the ardent splen- 
dours of his principal and sun-like tragedies. 

We recommend, then, the ' \'irgin A\'idow ' to all lovers of 
poetry, and may close by quoting a few lines descriptive of the 
heroine : — 

' In the soft fiiliiCKS of a roundfil piacc, 
X(,blr of st:iture. "illi an inwanl lif.' 
Of secrot joy sedate. Uot;alb;i staiuU, 
As seeing .ind not knowini,', she is seen. 
Like a majestic child, witlioiit a. want, 
She speaks not often, biit hor presence speaks. 
And is itself an cloqnencc, wliicli ivithdrawn. 
It seems as though some slrain nf mu-^ic ceased. 

When she speaks, inileed. 
'Tis like some one voice eminent in the choir. 
Hoard fium the midst of many harmonics, 
i\;ih t/,i-lf/n-!/ sim/loess yd clear acc-rd. 
ISo heard, so seen, she moves upon the eattli, 
I'nknowini,' tliat Ilie joy she miiiislcrs 
Is aught but Nature's sunshine.' 


Abt. IV.— Dwry and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys^ F,JR,S,^ Secre- 
tary to the Admiralty in the Eeiyns of Charles II, and James IL 
The Diary deciphered by the Rev, J, Smith, A^M.^from the original 
Shorthand Manuscript in the Pepysian Library, With Life and 
Notes, By Richard Lord Braybrooke. The New Edition, 
considerably enlarged. London: Colbum. 1849. 

The concluding volumes of the Diary of Samuel Pepys being 
now before us, we return to a brief review of the events there- 
in narrated, in order to present to our readers a rapid outline 
of the life of this, in some respects, remarkable man. In 
his career, subsequently to the period to which we formerly 
brought down our remarks, there is little of a stirring nature to 
relate ; no great or glorious achievements distinguished him from 
his contemporaries. His services to the community were of a 
character pre-eminently useful, without being very remarkable. 
A bteady determination to discharge his duties, a constant atten- 
dance at ofRce, in the midst of participation in the most trivial 
amusements, and surrounded by the fascination of continual 
gaiety, constitute his highest public merit. The times in which 
he lived were as different in their tone to that now prevalent, as 
can be well imagined. The manners of all classes were directly 
opposed to habits of application and business ; those, therefore, 
who combined full capabilitit s for joining in the frivolities of the 
times with great willingness in the discharge of their duties, 
were to be regarded as deserving no little commendation. 

To reject or stand aloof from the manners of the times, and 
view them with a cool, philosophical, or averted eye, was no 
easy task. The pursuit of pleasure formed the most important 
object of existence — from the monarch himself, down to * Orange 
Moll * in the playhouse. 

The affairs of the country, in the midst of a Dutch war, were 
carried on in the height of court intrigue and gallantries more 
debasing in their character, perhaps, than those of any former 
period. The whims of a favourite were suffered to interfere 
with the highest purposes of State, and the most important 
resolves were determined on in the chamber of my Lady Castle- 
maine. To expect, in this general fever of frivolity, that Pepys 
should have abstained from mingling in it, would be to expi*ct a 
miracle. He followed in the wake of the mass, but it is by no 
means improbable that the dissipation of each morning, which 
rendered it necessary for him to work so late at night, assibted 



greatly that premature bitnduess which robbed him of the 
pleaiiure of continuing his Diary, and deprived us of the numy 
raliiable and interesting details it would have contained. 

No better mirror indeed could possibly be found of the period 
than in this Diary, which frankly and peculiarly exposes so 
nuny of the intrigues and follies of the day. Of the practical 
utility of recalling to life such scenes there may, reasonably, in 
some minds, exist a doubt — a doubt, however, wliich will vanish 
when it is remembered that it can never be an uainstructivc 
lesson to investigate the history of the past, whether in a moral 
or political sense. The interest, too, awakened by this revival 
of old scenes, is, of itself, a sufficient inducement to make ua wish 
that many more such records had been preserved. 'Ihere is so 
mach of piquanlo anecdote, so much domestic nai'rative, that we 
gre transported completely back into the times, and seem to be 
oo intimate terms of fellowship with many of the most remarkable 
obaractf rs of the day. 

(five the reader a perfect outline of all (hat the volume 
would be impossible : we must, therefore, be con- 
with viewing Pepys under several of the most interesting 
;ta in which he comes before us. In the early portion of 
bM life, wc cannot but confess that he occupies a more amiable 
position, and challenges more of our respect. We then behold 
him making his way, surmounting obstacles, clearing away 
obttmctions, and laboriously eager in the pursuit of his dutiea. 
Even bis avarice was then pardonable, for it seemed oidy 
natural to cxiipct thnt what lie \vm\ ^o hardlv canifd .sho.dd be 


I Ijuk 

inherent in his chai'acter to hoard up mnuey, is evident from tbu 
painful intrusion of his misorlv thoughts, in the midst sometimes 
of enjoyments suggested and carried out by himself, and for his 
own personal gratiticiition. Somftimes lie manifests the most 
recklesss profusion, but scarcely ever without nflerw.irds re- 
proaching himself with it. Hit is occasionally surprised to reflect 
upon the rapid jrroivth of his wealth ; and, imU'cil, it cannot bm be 
noticfd that 1'(.'])_vs'm wus a iiio-t furtuiiiiti; ciiri'or. Few men have 
risen (ioni poverty to weuitli so rapidly. His hopes were few ; 

ind if in the h.ti 
inlv the nat 
" ,- whicli 

s of I 

s life 

■al 1 


iced pove 

to the c 

hands, to tlic siinipti 
doublet ; from the hi 
and gilded coach, wa 

ard nf the 

ii-lh disj.laved. The . 

I- honuly dinner cooked by his wife's own 

nus entiTtairimciit prcpiu'ed by hired ]n-o- 

■ art; fioni the cloth cloak to the brocaded 

red vehicle to ihe gaily ciiparisoned horses 

. rapid — far marc rapid than he had any 


right to expect, and can only be accounted for by a scries of 
propitious accidents which seldom assemble round Uie path of a 
single individual. 

In reading the Pepysian Diary, very many reflections, highly 
unfavourable to the writer, are apt to intrude themselves upon us, 
since there are so many traits of character detailed of a petty nature. 
But it must be borne in mind that we are, as it were, viewing the 
worst phases of his character, since he sets down in his private 
records all his most evil actions — actions of which the world 
knew nothing, and motives at which the world could not guess. 
Amongst his private friends and acquaintances, he seems to have 
been universally esteemed, and was ever a welcome guest With 
women too he was a great favourite. 

From these circumstances, we are induced to believe that 
his manners were to a certain extent fascinating and polished 
for the age in which he lived. Much of good is found mingled 
with the evil in his disposition, manv instances of benevolence 
and charity are related, and from the anecdotes in the Diary 
we judge him to have been kind hearted. His chief faults 
were avarice and an innate selfishness, which rendered it, to a 
certain extent, painful to assist those in need, even while he 
commiserated their misfortunes. This apparent contradiction is 
easy to be understood, if properly reflected on. As he grew 
older, his fondness for pleasure increased in proportion, and was 
the frequent cause of uim^asantness with his wife, whom he 
loved as a companion, anaesteemed as a friend ; but for whom 
he could not be said to profess an all-engrossing attachment. 
He bore her jealousy with infinite forbearance, and was rarely 
induced to retsuiate the hard words she bestowed upon him, often 
with the greatest justice. It is a highly edifying study to watch 
his character develop itself before us, to perceive his virtues 
increase, and his faults at the same time expand with greater 
vigour ; and to see how little meannesses obtrude themselves into 
his mind on many occasions. It is unjust, however, to be too 
severe upon Pepys for the reflections we sometimes meet with, 
since it behoves us to remember, that though he perhaps only 
has had the frankness to confess it, similar exultations and petty 
notions have obtruded themselves at times upon our own hearts. 

' Home, and there found all things in readiness for a grand dinner. 
By and by come my g^uests, Dr. Gierke and bis wife, and Mrs. 
Worshipp and her daughter ; and then Mr. Reeve and his wife, and 
boy and Betty ; and then I sent for Mercer ; so that we had, with my 
wife and I, twelve at tabic, and very good and pleasant company ; and 
a most neat and excellent, but dear dinner, uut. Lord ! to see with 
what way tliey looked upon all my fine plate, was pleasant, for I made 


the best show I could to let them understand me and my condition, to 
take do\vTi the pride of Mrs. Gierke, who thought herself very great.' 
— Vol. iv. p. 11. 

• Coming home, saw my door and Ulch open, left bo by Suse our 
cook-maid, which so vexed me, that I did give her a kick in our entry, 
and offered a hlow at her, and was seen doing so by Sir W, Pen's foot- 
boy, which did vex me to the heart, because I know he will be telling 
their family of it.' — !b. p. 15. 

An English gentleman so resenting a trifling inadvertence on 
the part of one of his servants, is by no means an ennobling pic- 
ture. It proves, however, the great irritability of Pepye's 
temper. His increasing love of pleasure was beginning to be the 
talk of every one ; so that his wife, who takes care to tell him of 
it, informs him that it is the topic of discourse with the servants. 
Not having strength of mind to moderate his indidgoncc alto- 
gether, he inflicts Upon himself certain fasts and abstinences 
nom pleasure for a few days, and when that is over, plunges 
Elill further into the pursuit of gaiety. His wife was herself of 
a somewhat volatile turn of mind, and was ever ready to ac- 
company him in any excursion of pleasure. AVhat she condemned 
was, his extreme fondness for enjoying himself without her, 
which roused her jealousy, and kept her in a constant state of 
irritation. That her suspicions with respect to Mistress Knipp, 
the actress, were in some measure well founded, there cannot 
exist a doubt ; .ind that he was conscious of its being deserved is 
proved hy the fact of his frequently concealing his visits to the 
playhouse, where Knipp performed. 

' My wife bcinfj dressed (his day in false hair, did make me so mad 
that I spoke not one word lo her, though I was ready to burst with 
anger. After that dinner and I unto the p'lrk and walked a most plea- 
sant evening, and so took I 1 k [ j wife, and in my way 
home discovered my tru U j f f I liitc locks, swearing 

several times, which I p j G d f 1 bonding my fist, that 

I would not endure if. I | i surprised with it, 

and made mo no answ !1 1 j h n b there wv p^irled, and 

1 to the office lale, and tl 1 1 h pper lo bed vexed. 

' Lurd's Day. — Up an 1 n j 1 b I some accounts there, 

and by and by donn co m I nighii^own, and she 

begun calmly, that upon 1 n j 1 her gown for second 

mourning, she would pr h 1 k nomorc inmy sif;ht, 

which I, like a severe fool Ik lb gan to except against, 

and made her fly out to j 1 I d j ind in her heat, told 

mc of keeping companj I M 1 ]j that if I ivould pro- 

mise never to see her mo f I n 1 1 I re reason lo suspect 
than I had heretofore of Pemhlelon, she would never near white 
locks more. This vextd mc, hut I restrained mjsclt from saying any- 
thing, but do think never lo sec this woman, at least to have her here 
more, and so all very >;uoii frieiiil;; as ever.' — /''■ p. -li'- 


The taste for theatricals never, perhaps, ran so high as at this 
period, when morning representations took place, which wern 
well attended by all the nobility and fashion of the day, and 
every other kind of amusements in proportion was followed up. 

About this time, London was kept in a continued state of 
excitement through the Dutch, who were rapidly approaching 
our shores. It was the universal topic of conversation ; but in 
spite of the prospect of invasion^ the people danced, intrigued, 
frequented the theatres, and plunged into every kind of dissipa- 
tion. Provisions rose in price, and we find Pepys glorying in 
having procured a supply of coals cheap. The general mode 
of spending the day may be guessed from one of Pepys's own. 
He rose early in the morning, and, along with his wife, went 
round to the tailor and dressmaker, to give orders, and to pay 
his tradesmen's bills ; they then proceeded to the play-house, 
whence^ after passing a few hours in contemplating the per- 
formances, they went to the park, where all the Slite of London 
assembled, to wile away a little time. The general place of 
rendezvous was where Lady Castlemaine and Lady Newcastle, 
surrounded by a crowd of admirers^ rode to and fro. It was a 
brilliant spectacle to behold the coaches covered with gold and 
silver trappings, and the splendidly attired ladies and gentlemen 
flocking up and down, assembling under the trecs^ commenting 
and gossiping upon the events of the dav. 

Pcpys was very fond of being seen with his grand acquaintance 
attired in his fine clothes, and is ashamed to be beheld walking 
about with any of his poorer friends, especially if they cannot 
outwardly keep up the same state as himself. He had long 
meditated making an excursion in the country, but he suffers his 
temper to deprive him of the promised treat. His wife had gone 
to Woolwich, and came home in time to dress against the even- 
ing to go to Mrs. Pierce's to be merry, * where,' he 8a\'8, * we 
are to have Knipp and Harris, and other good people. 1 at my 
accounts. Anon comes down my wife, dressed in her second 
mourning, with her black moyre waistcoat, and short petticoat 
Inced with silver lace so baselv, that I could not endure to see 
her, and with laced lining ; which is so soon, that I was horrid 
angry, and would not go to our intended meeting, which vexed 
me to the blood, and my wife sent twice or thrice to me to say 
she was willing any way to dretis her, but to put ou her 
cloth gown, which she would not venture, which made toe 
mad ; and so in the evening to my chamber, home and to my 

The state of our defences at this time was the subject of much 
animadversion. Many charged the king with being too much 
occupied with his pleasure to attend to the aifairs of the nation. 


The Dutcli were abroad with eighty sail of ships of war, and 
twenty fire-ships, tlie French uovered in the channel with 
twenty sail of men of war and five fire-ships, while we had not a 
ship at sea capable of resisting them. Pepys, in going to deliver 
ap his report of accounts, iinimadvertsBtrongly on the conduct of 
men in office having leisure and opportunity to see how affairs 
were managed. Preparations were indeed making along the 
coast to receive the Dutch when they should come, and they 
speedily advanced up to the Nore, when a demand was eagerly 
msde for fire-ships. Pepys, while exclaiming at the backward- 
neae of the Government, waa himself on the alert, and doing his 
beet to assist in faking measures for the defence of the country. 
He posted down to Greenwich, and found that the Dutch bad 
advanced as far as Shcerness. In the night the place waa lost. 
More earnest exertions were now set on foot, and an order was 
iwoed from the Council to take any man's ships that it should 
be judged necessary to make use of. The metropolis was in 

an order lor the train-bands, upon pain of duatli, to ajipcar 
in arms in the morning with bullets and ponder, and money to 
supply themselves with victuals for a fnrtnisjlit, 'i'ljc npxt djiy, 
affairs promised so ill, that Pepys did net like tn be sern going 
to any place of annisomcnt, but went, never ihcless, though hia 
mind was. heavy with fears kst the country should bo lost, but 
says that he is himself conscious of having done his duty. In 
the evening he retires into his closet willihis wifr and fillicr, and 
tbtre consulted upon what should be done. They resolved that 
Ptpys's posso??ions in nioiiey ?lLiiuld be collected and si nt into 
the country until all fear ul' seizure was ovir. In the morning, 
with a heavy beait. I'.pvs vi>.v< :uk1 biur, ilie sad news of the 
taking <}[ the liui/ai Chiirhn. The commands now received were 
to sail the ships already prepared to prevent tjie eneniv from 
advancing furlbi r up tlie I'xwv. Tlusc ciaumstances tiHud Pepys 
witit so m'ucii appr( lieusion, that be immediately determined upon 
tending bis wife and lather into the country. MV'i two hours' 
hasty preparation, tliev v,-lk ready with ^T.^OO in their possses- 
sion in gold. He found some difilcully in drawing bis money 
from the hands of his bankers, even by ofl'ering silver in exchange, 
aed continued in a slate of ap]u-ehension the whole day. In llie 
afternoon, he resolved to send Mr. Gibson away after his wife 
with 1000 pieces more, under cover of an express to Sir Jpremy 
Smith, who was with some ships at Newcastle, and not being easy 
about the safe arrival of bis gold at IJiamplon, be sent a mes- 
senger to overtake bis wife and father before night. His even- 
ings he employed in scuttering his valuables aliout among bis 
friends, so that he mish, run the greater chance of saving some 


portion of them. He also had a girdle made in which he was 
able to carry £300 in gold in case of a surprisal. The public 
mind was no less uneasy ; people convened openly in the streets 
concerning the supposed mismanagement of affairs. The cry 
was, ^ We are betrayed by people about the king, bought and 
sold, and are to be delivered up to the French.' 

The gold of which Mrs. Pepys and her father-in-law took 
charge arrived safely at its destination, but that under the care of 
Mr. Gibson fared not so well One of the bags broke and several 
of the gold pieces escaped, but how many in number Pepys 
could not tell, which considerably aggravated his distress. His 
wife, in a day or two, returned home, and told how, on Sunday 
morning, when the rest of the family were gone to church, and 
the neighbours also, she and her father-in-law went out in the 
midst of the garden to bury the gold. The time they chose 
displeased Pepys much, for he feared that other eyes might have 
been upon them. 

Meanwhile Pepys, undeterred by the public excitement, pro- 
secutes his amusements with much vigour, taking his wife and 
servant to Epsom, where they had a delightful day. Walking 
out upon the downs, he says he beheld 

' The most pleasant and innocent sight that I saw in my life. We 
found a shepherd, and his little boy reading, far from any houses and 
sight of people, the Bible to him, so I made the boy read to me, which 
he did, with the forced tone that children do usually read, that was 
mighty pretty, and then I did give him something, and went to the 
father and talked with him, and I find he had been a servant in my 
cousin Pepys*8 house, and told me what was become of the old servants. 
He did content himself mightily in my liking his boy*8 reading, and 
did bless God for him, the most like one of the old patriarchs that ever 
I saw in my life, and it brought those thoughts of the old age of the 
world for two or three days after. We took notice of his woollen-knit 
stockings, of two colours mixed ; and of his shoes, shod with iron both 
at the toe and heels, with great nails in the soles of his feet, which 
was mighty pretty ; and taking notice of them, ** Why," says the poor 
man, '* the downs, you see, are full of stones, and we are fain to shoo 
ourselves thus ; and these,** says he, '* will make the stones fly till 
they break before me.** I did give the poor man something, for which 
he was mighty thankful.* — Ih, p. 112 

For some time Pepys was closely employed at his office daring 
the greater portion of the day ; and his Diary at this time 
consists, for the most part, of accounts of the Dutch, and our 
defences against them. Such notices our readers will readily 
dispense with, and follow us into more interesting details. Lady 
Castlemaine had for some time been diminishing in favour with 
the king, and had several rivals in his affection. She waa a 


proud, imperious woman, and lost her position chiefly by her own 
meddling io affnirs in which she had no business to interrcre. 
Though dismissed from court, she continued now and then 
still to patch up a temporary peace with his majesty, so as to 
return for a while to favour. Jealous of losing her position, she 
sought to keep on good terms with the king; but carried on 
various other intrigues, which it was not to be expected could be 
tolerated. The fashion of the day was intrigue, and Pepys took 
his full share of it whenever his wife was out of the way. His 
forcing her into the company of Knipp, the actress, whom 
he knew she abhorred, was by no means in good taste, and we 
cannot wonder that she resented it as she did. Not content 
with Knipp, he turns his admiring gaze upon every pretty 
face that chances to meet his eye. Going into St, Dunstan's 
Church one Sunday, he says : — 

' I beard sn able eennon of the minister of the place ; and stood by 

a pretty, modest maid, whom I did labour to take by iho hnnd, bat she 
would not, but got further and further from mc ; and at hist I could 
perceive her to take pins out of her pocket to prick mc if I should 
touch her again — which seeing, I did forbear, and was glad I did spy 
her designs. And then I fell to gaze upon another pretty maid, lu a 
pew close by me ; and I did go about to take her by the band, which 
she suffered a little, and then withilrew. So, the sermon ended, and 
the church broke up, and my amour also,' — lb. p. 159. 

The time was now arrived when Pcpys thought he might with 
safety fetch back bis money to town ; f.i>, due preparation being 
made, early on the 7th of October, IfifjT, he and his wife and 
maid set out in a coach-atid-foiu", with two friends on horse- 
back at the side ; and passing llirough Ahlgatc, by the Green 
Man, on to Entield, they pursued their day's journey, ."iinging 
and telling talcs on the way, staying at night at Stortford, and 
continuing their expedition the next day ; stopping by the way 
to visit a friend's house, to drink wine in tlie cellar and 
gather grapes in the garden, about noon next day they arrived 
at Brampton, over which Pcpys wanders with considerable satis- 
faction, contemplating the pretty, simple rooms, the garden, and 
summer -house — looking forward with pleasure to the time when, 
the care of official duties over, be should retire thither to pass 
the remainder of his days. Talking over domestic matters with 
hi.s father, he is concerned to find that, during his wife's late 
viMt there, she has behaved proudly to both him and his sister, 
for whom it now heeomcs necessary to provide a husband, since, 
he says, she is growing old and ugly. The chief object of 
Pepys's visit was, however, to recover bis dearly-loved gold ; 
accordingly, the d.ay over, and the company assembled to 


welcome him gone, he, with his wife and father, and a dark 
lantern, went to dig up the gold. 

' But, Lord ! what a take I was for some time in, that they could 
not justly tell where it was ; that I begun heartily to sweat and be 
^ngry, that they could not come better upon the place, and at last to 
fear that it was gone ; but by and by, poking with a spit, we found 
it, and then begun with a spade to lift up the ground. But, good 
God ! to sec how sillily they did it. Not half a foot under ground, 
and in the sight of the world from a hundred places, if anybody by 
acciden^ were near at hand ; and within sigl^t of a neighbour's window 
— only my father says that he saw them all gone to church before he 
began the work, when he laid the money.' — lb, p. 222. 

The greedy haste with which he sought to recover his trea- 
sure caused him to scatter the pieces round about the ground 
among the grass and loose earth, which had got mixed with the 
gold, the damp having rotted away the bags. Much to his dis- 
tress he finds them in this condition and resolves to take them 
up, dirt and all, into his brother's chamber. Accordingly, after 
partaking of a slight supper, the rest of the family having retired 
to bed, Pepys, with William Ilewor, carried up pails of water and 
carefully washed the mud from ofl' the money, but after they had 
accomplished this, by comparing the quantity with a note he 
had in his pocket, he found missing a hundred pieces ; exceed- 
ingly late as it was, lest some one should perform the work for 
them, they sallied forth at midnight, and searching, found fortj 
pieces more, with which success he was satisfied for the nighL 
By daylight the next day, he was up with pails and sieve in the 
garden washing the earth as though searching for diamonds, and 
by dint of great perseverance succeeded in recovering all but 
about twenty pieces, at which he expresses great content, and 
that very day takes leave of his father, gives twenty shillings to 
his sister as a parting gift, and with his gold stowed away in a 
basket under the carriage seat, travels to London, looking at it 
every quarter of an hour to see that it was all right. 

The Parliament were now occupied in making a short inves- 
tigation into the management of public afiairs during the late 
war, and many feared that they would not come off with any 
honour, as the inquiry was carried on with great severity, and a 
stout determination to discover fault where there was fault. 
Every body believed that Pepys would come off free, but he 
was not quite so easy himself, though conscious of having to the 
utmost of liis power performed his duty. With some uneasinessi 
therefore, he attended at the Parliament house all day until 
seven in the evening, waiting to be called into the committee^ 
but was not called in until the evening of the next day, when 


calling for a chair to lean his book on, and candles, owin^ to his 
•horlnoss of sight, he gave 60 clear and lucid account of the 
whole husine§8 that had paused in the office concerning the 
Chatham al^irs that they were pefectly satisfied with his 
behaviour. Upon the lannner in which he conducted himself 
during the mvestigation he was greatly complimented, and he 
felt not a little proud of the issue, though, at the same time, 
fearing that a back blow might be dealt, Hia success, however, 
was eventually complete, and he returned with honour from the 
invMtitfntion, though others escaped not so easily. 

It is amusing to find in the course of the Diary, an attempt 
at criticism on Shakspeare'a play : — 

• At noon, resolved with Sir William Pen to go and see " the Tera- 
pnt,*' ui old play of Shakspeare, acted I hear the first day, and so 
nj wife and girl and William Hewer by themselves, and Sir W, Pen 
I m. I afterwards by ourselves . . . The house mighty full, the king 
■nd court there, and the most innocent play that ever I saw ; and a 
(.uriou* piece (jf music in an echo of half seiittncCN, the echo rppcatint; 
the former ball' nhile the man gous on to Ihu l.itlur. wiiivli is preity. 
Tkr play hat no great wit, but yet ffood, above ordinary plays,' — lb. 
p. 258. 

Amongst his cares of office, I'epys finds leisure to attend to n 
variety of domestic affairs. Amongst others, the marriage; of 
his sister and the arrangement of the love iiH'airs of James and 
Jane, his two servants, who had been qnancllin:;. These things 
completed, he shortly after dcspalciies lii- " .!■ iti; ■ rlh cunitry, 
while in her absence he commences a f;;i\ ■ ■ i ■ ' .;■ could 
not prosecute while she was in town, llri i- ■ ■ ■ i wiay — 
now to the playhouse, now to dinner, ajul ^,1^. ui',., iu,-. v. liulf time 
in gaiety and amusement. Some days the eutiies in hia journal 
are brief in the extreme. To hL' sure he docs go to his office, 
but then that was business which could not be set aside; that 
done, he deemed he was free to revel and carouse, as his incli- 
nation prompted him. This time of irresponsibility, of freedom 
from a wife's dtiminiou, could not last fur ever, aiirt so be at last 
set oat to fetch her back again, and after spending a day or so 
with her father, returns to town. Husy friends were only too 
eager to whisper in her ears the seems nf gaiety enacted in her 
alwcnce, and she nurses Jicr grief for some lime in her bosom, 
ualy waiting tor a proper upjiortuiiitj to f.^iiludc. 

' Somewhat out of humour all day, ri:lliclin^ on my \iifc"s neglect 
of things, and impertinent humuiir got I>y this liberty of being from me, 
which she is never to be trusted with, for she is a fool . . . Home, ami 
there wiib my people to supjier all in pritly good humour, though I 
fonnd my wife hath sometliiug in her gi/zaril lliat only waiH an op. 
vol.. XXVIII. X 


portunity of being provoked to bring it up, but I will not for my con- 
tent sake take it ... At noon home to dinner, where my wife she 
in a melancholy humour and crying, and do not tell me plainly what 
it is, but I by little words find that she hath heard of my going to 
plays and carrying people abroad every day in her absence ; and that I 
cannot help but the storm will break out in a little time ... At night 
home, where supped Mr. Miller and his wife, and Betty Mercer and 
sister, as merry as the ill melancholy humour that my wife was in 
would let us, which vexed me, but I took no notice of it, thinking that 
will be the best way, and lot it wear itself away. After supper, parted 
and to bed, my wife troubled all night, and about one o'clock, goes 
out of the bed into the girl's bed, which did trouble me, she crying 
and sobbing without telling the cause. l)y and bye, she comes back 
to me, and still crying ; I then rose and would have set up all night, 
but she would have me to come to bed again, and being pretty well 
satisfied, me to sleep.' — lb. p. 7C. 

These scenes, however, became of more frequent occurrence 
in after years. The next night the same almost was enacted, and 
eventually we find constant reference to little domestic fracas, 
which were healed up, and broken almost as soon as ncalcd. 
Pcpys, thoupfh outwardly evincing an interest in her welfare^ 
could not make up his mind wholly to reject the acquaintance 
of those persons to whom she so strongly objected. Had he 
possessed for her the afTection he professed, he could not have 
thought his acquaintance with Knipp, as worthy one moment to 
be held in the scale ; but the truth wjis, that the excitement 
attending the frequenting of such society at last became almost 
a necessary of his existence : — 

* This evening I observed my wife mighty dull, and I myself was not 
mighty fond, because of some hard words she did give me at noon, oat 
of a jealousy at my being abroad this morning, which, Qod knows, it 
was upon the business of the office unexpectedly, but I to bed, not 
thinking but she would come after me. But waking by and bye out 
of a slumber, which I usually fall into presently after my coming into 
the bed, I found she did not prepare to come to bed, but got fresh 
candle and more wood for her fire, it being mighty cold too. At this 
being troubled, I after awhile prayed her to come to bed ; so after aa 
hour or two she silent, and I now and then pniying her to come to 
bed, she fell out into a fury, that I was a rogue and false to her. I did* 
as I might truly, deny it, and was regularly troubled, but all would not 
serve. At last, about one o'clock, she came to the side of the bed, and 
drew my curtains open, and with the tongs red hot at the end. made 
as if she did design to pinch me with them. At which in dismay, I 
rose up, and with a few words she laid them down, and did by little 
and little very softly let all the discourse full ; and about two, but with 
much seeming difficulty, come to bed, and tliere lay well all night, and 
long in bed talking together with much pleasure. I knew nothinft 
but her doubt of my going out yesterday without telling her of mj 

pept'b's diary and oohrespondencb. 307 

ROtng, which dkd vex her, poor wretch I Ittst night, and 1 cannot blame 
Mr jealAusf. though it do vox me lo the heart.' — Vol. v. p. 62. 

One instance more of the kind will be BufEcient ; — 

* I to the 'Chan^, and so home, where my wife mighty dogged, and 
I Tcxcd to see it, being mightily troubled of lato at her being out of 
tmiBOnr, far fear of her discovering any new matter of offence against 
at, though I am conscious of none, but do hate to be unquiet at home. 
Bo hto Dp, silent, and not supping, but hearing her utter some words 
rf^i»cDntent to mc with silence, and so to bed, weeping to myself for 
grief, wliich she discerning, come to bed mighty kind.' — lb. p. 91. 

Mrs. Pepys, though doubtless a very amiable woman, seems to 
hae been of an irritable disposition, for we find her continually 
on bad terms with some one, dismissing her servants constantly 
in B harry, and ever on the alert to have a dispute with her hus- 
l^iid. la bcr general behaviour to him she was exceedingly 
ISbA and attentive. During the gradual progress of the loss of 
Ks sight, she employed herself constantly in rcndinj? to him in 

trouble of studying for liini-^elf. Fond of drctis and amusuincnt 
in the extreme, her conduct appears to have been generally 
blameless. Once or twice in the course of the Diary, we find 
hiin giving expression to a jealous feeling when licr beauty 
attracted the notice of any one, and is much displeased with her, 
and her partiaUty for a gentleman who for a .short time visited 
constantly at their house, and accompanied them to every place 
of amusement. Beyond admiration for his public talents and 
pleasant conversation, this connexion appeiirs not to have gone. 
In spite of the peace with bin wife, and his promises that he 
would confine all his attention to her, we soou find him wander- 
ing and continually seeking to gi't into iidventures with oilier 
women. Much of all this must, of course, liavc been concealed 
£'00 his wife, otherwise there would Il^vl' been no ptace for 
Pcpys inside his own doors, 
r In the year ItiGf), Pepys sel up i, en:-,(li— )u.- ioii;3-rliui..lud 
plan being at last carried into oHict, of bcin!,' seen riding in his 
o»n coach ; and the sensations of his wifc^lii r i'ai;ci*nc,-s to be 
Been in her new vehicle, aie dc-ci-llied with infinite cIomucss to 
nature. The first time they i;o out in it is cluonieled wiili all 
due precision, and it is some time before they get pcrfeelly used 
to it : — 

• Mat/ \st. — Up betimes ; ealltd at my tailor's, and there put on a 
tommer suit for this year; but not my tine one of llfiwcrcd Uibby 
vest, and coloured camctott Uinic, because it was too tine, with tlic f;old 
lace on the bands, thiit 1 was afraid to be seen in il, but put on the 
stuff suit I had made last year, wbirb is now repaired, anil so did go to 


the office in it, and sat all the morning, the day looking as if it \¥ 
be foul. At noon, home to dinner, and there find my wife extra« 
nary fine, with her flowered tabby gown that she made two years 
now laced exceeding pretty, and indeed, was fine all over ; and m 
earnest to go, though the day was very showery ; and she would '. 
me put on my fine suit, which I did. And so anon we went a 
through the rain with our new liveries of serge, and the horses* m 
and tails tied with red ribbons, and the standards gilt with Tarnish 
all clean, and green reins, that people did mightily look upon us, 
the truth is, I did not see any coach more pretty, though more gay 
ours, all the day/ — lb. p. 193. 

With the end of May 1669, the Diary comes abruptly '■ 
close, and it is with considerable regret that we find 
saying : — 

* And thus ends all that I doubt I shall ever be able to do wi^ 
own eyes in the keeping of my journal, I being not able to do it 
longer, having done so now so long, as to undo my eyes almost e 
time that I ti^e my pen in hand, and, therefore, whatever comes < 
I must forbear, and therefore resolve, from this time forward* to ] 
it kept by my people in long hand, and must be contented to set d 
no more than b fit for them, and all the world may know.* — Ih. p. ! 

This blindness had been gradually creeping upon him, 
was accelerated by his own neglect and working late at ni 
and comes to its height at the age of thirty-six. The remaiz 
portion of his life presents few shining details. His wife < 
many years before he did, and he appears to hare retired 
comparatively early age to the retreat at Brampton, where 
passed the remainder of his days. Here we take leaTe of 1 
and it is for our readers to follow up the partial inTestigation 
have made into the interesting details of the Tolumes. 

In a critical point of view, we have little to remark, havin] 
our former paper expressed our high opinion of the aUe max 
in which Lord Braybrooke has performed his task, an opii 
confirmed by the perusal of the present volume. Everytl 
that great skill and patient investigation and reaearch oouU 
to throw fresh light upon the Diary hat been performed bj 
accomplished editor. 


-r/« Life of Hugh Hfugh, D.D. Tillh a Seleetwn from Mi 
By his Son-in-law, Hanneson M. M'Gill. Two Vols. 
: FulUirton and Co. 

biognphj of a pre-eminently good man, especially if he 
have occupied a position not unattainable by the many, and if 
IfaeareoK on which his virtues were displayed was such as every 
ma may enter, and in it as honourably, although not so con- 
*pIcQon»ly, act liis part, is one of the most valuable contributions 
to public happiness. Goodness, when exhibited as a principle, 
rararecd by argument, or even commended by eloquence and 
poetry, is too distant, and, to common perception, too impalpa- 
99, to gain TDany TotarieB ; but when embodied in a man like 
enr^elves, whom wc knew, who w.ilkcd the same streets, paftook 
in the ;.ame counsels, and Wits involved in the same interests as 
ourselves, wc admire and love it. It becomes impersonate. 
We arc taught without the effort of learning ; we are improved 
without the pain of conviction and reformation. Gloriously 
does divine wisdom shine out in its method of teaching and 
■notifying depraved humanity ! The religion of the gospel is 
fiw the most part a biography ; and if we note its potent trans- 
fbnning inriueuce upon men's minds, we shall find it is the 
ia£uenec of a personal life — a spotless example ; it is the assimi- 
lative power of human virtue in ' the man Christ Jesus' — the 
friend and companion, as well as the Saviour oi' sinners. 

Biography is the life and power, if it be not the very highest 
development of history. How broad soever the field of inquiry, 
9t complicated the events that are recorded, the historical in- 
terest, in general, gathers around a few conspicuous men, whose 
parpo«ics and principles, whose character and career, gave form 
to the destinies of a nation or a continent. 

But the times of peace must have their record, as well as the 
more eventful periods of war. And in no way so happily and 
truly can the progress of society, in the arts of civilization, and 
in the rational enjoyment of freedom, ho described, as by the 
opinion"! and hopes, the counsels and schemes, the arguments 
and efforts, of leading minds, which were the moving-springs 
from which this progress took its rise. 

It ha.s often been to us matter of regret that biography was 
so limited in its range. The warrior and the statesman, the 
poet and the orator, the divine and the scholar, have their lives 
written ; but theirs are not the oulv formative minds in the com- 


munity ; and it were well if from other ranks, the public-spirited 
merchant and the patriotic citizen, were selected, as examples of 
social virtue, as models of that high-minded patriotism, which, 
far from the honours and emoluments of office, seeks the public 
good under no other impulse than the rectitude of its purpoee, 
and the happiness of doing good. 

Were the life of Dr. Heugh that of a pious and faithful 
minister, a highly spiritual Christian, a respected and revered 
leader of a religious denomination, it would have its value; OQly> 
however, as one of a very diversified series of such biographies, 
by which these particular departments of human worth have 
found an ampler illustration and record than perhaps any other. 
But the special value of this biography is derived firom the 
extraordinary combination in the character which it portrays; 
— the combination of the spiritual excellences which belong to 
the minister, the Christian, and the religious leader, with the 
social abilities and worth of an exemplary citizen and of an 
honourable and useful public man. There is not one part of 
Dr. Heugh's character which we should fear to hold up for imi- 
tation and admiration. But what constitutes its peculiar and 
extraordinary excellence is this, that those who have no pre* 
dilcction for his christian and spiritual virtues, cannot refrain 
from doing homage to the merely moral and social qualities of 
this good man. 

Any time during the last twenty years might have been seen in 
Glasgow — in almost every assembly called to denounce oppres- 
sion, vindicate injured humanity, advocate freedom, or maintain 
truth — a man short in stature, handsomely but rather lightly 
made ; the image of healthy vigour, with an exact, methodical, 
business-like demeanour; his countenance po8S€^s8ing a rotund 
<ind hearty chubbiness, which made his snow-white hair look 
rather as a protest against his being counted young, than a proof 
that he was growing old. The genuine goodness of his character 
shone in the entire miin, and was reflected from every conn* 
tcnancc. Hearty plaudits greeted his entrance, and hailed his 
rising as a general I'avour and advantage. When he spoke, it 
was with the air of a man whom truth had taught to look with 
hope u])on human condition, iind with gladness at the brightening 
prospects of the MorUl. His words wore the utterance of firm 
conviction, more than of deep earnestness. His pithy, concise, 
and telling arguments, were jwured forth with no passionate 
fervour ; and y( t no one could doubt his sincerity, or escape the 
conviction that there was a subdued flame of passion under that 
well-disci|>lintd manner. He was like a soldier, in whom habit 
and disci [iline had Ixcome second nature — so that the strongest 
impulses of his heart never disordered the military exactness of 



his raoTcments. There was n merry satisfaction withal in his 

tones, aa it" anticipating the effect of his appeals — ' I have no 

tear of tlie reception that this shall meet with.' His appeals were 

to common sense and the higher moral principles — seldom to the 

passions, never to the prejudices of his hearers. Whoever waa 

backward in a good cause. Dr. Heagh was not. He might now 

' and then be missed, when some good seemed to be in hand ; but 

I you might be sure that, in the movement from which lie held 

t back, there was some taint of illiberality or weakness with which 

\ he could not condescend to ally himself. Yet, while thus 

I forward in every good work, he was no nitre hack, at the call of 

I erery cause which put on a good name, or gloried in a goad 

' intention. His work was in right-dQing — not in riyht-seeming. 

Beoutifally judicious were his principles, and consistent was 

I Ins conduct, in this respect. As a minister of the gospel, and 

I paator of a large and growing congregation, he was understood 

|r to eay, ' This (my ministry) is my work. Here I will always, 

and with niv wholi; strength, be fouDtl. Eat I ;iiii ;iltn n t:\UvJ-n, 

as I am a ;ind f.iiluT. 1 caniwt luyk'tt tliL> duli..:, of 

home, under pretext of occupying myself with those of my 

church. As little can I neglect my duties as a citizen. 1 have 

influence as a man. My judgment (iio m;ittcr how it comes 

about) has weight with it— it shall be thrown into the scale of 

righteousness and truth.' He was not afraid of poiilies. He 

never was guilty of the weak and pernicious folly of counting 

politics a blighting curse, and at the snnie lime speaking of 

iwAeftf, of wliicii politics is the life and regulation, as a divine 

blessing. He never cowered in timid seclusion when good men 

and true were wauled to say or do llie right, under tlic mean 

pretence that his sacred oflicc forbad liis liieddiiug with secular 

matters. As lorii; as his Chi-i-ti;uiitv and miiii-terial oflice left 

" " ■ ,iid nee.><itie'. of llc^h and blood, 

osses,-;oii of feelings that could and 

lo-e of men of lil;e i>ns>ions he felt 

t,(l rii-lits and iiuposed duties willi 

no ^y\>v interfere. 1 le e.xerled an 

II, and. ill ueiieial soeietv. as -reut, 

time, Dick's theoloi,.ie.d learning, 

wi.hl, and never s..u-ljt to handle, 
■t. biouiilil hiu> inlocoulncl wilh a 
lis less v-.m- all:.iHmi[its -,ae liim 

the week-dav :i-^ well as on the 

him under the app 

subject to taxation, i 
must ally tlieuiselves 

that liis huni.ui nalur 

which Cllri^tiani(v ^\ 

inHucnce in his dei.o 

perhaps, as any man 
and IJrown's biblit 

weapons which he cc 
But Heusirs diversi 

larger of u 

access to iIlo multit 

Sabbath, llewasll 

originator of no f;ie; 

was that practical \< 


part in public affairs was the judicious, wise, persevering conduct 
of them to a desirable and practicable issue. Nothing of import- 
ance during his public life occupied general attention in which he 
did not bear a part — and that always the part of enlightened liberal 
sentiment, wise moderation, and stem principle. Christian union, 
Free Communion, and the Abolition of Covenanting tests^ Par- 
liamentary Befoi-m, Christian Missions, Anti-state- church Agita- 
tion, City Mission and Christian Instruction Agency — all found 
in him an earnest and a successful promoter. 

Of the two volumes which compose this work, one contains 
certain expository lectures, and a selection from the numerous 
MSS. discourses which Dr. Heugh left behind him. His expo- 
sitions arc distinguished by clearness and soliditv. OriginaUty 
of thought or illustration dicy do not display, rerhaps a mind 
of so practical a mould could not be expected to strike oat 
new paths of thought, or elaborate uncommon processes of rea- 
soning. Whatever power of originality he possessed, he was 
likely to restrain. His admiration was a sound theologian — one 
who never traversed the line of well-ascertained orthodoxy. He 
commends certain of his brethren for this conservative excellence 
in a divine. A mind so practical as Dr. Hengh*8 never allowed 
itself to go in search of original or uncommon illustrations. What 
clear, solid, practical expositions of divine truth can be, they are, 
and will be especially valuable to those who, having enjoyed his 
personal ministrations, can by this means recall the precious pri- 
vileges of which the hand of death has deprived them. 

Of the Life, which has been prepared with much labour and 
^reut judgment, the principal part is an autobiogn^)hy, at least 
journals and letters, of Dr. Ileugh. And a singular insight this 
private journal gives of the workings of an active^ conscientious, 
and deeply pious mind. 

To the personal friends and adherents of Dr. Heugh, such a 
biography is invaluable ; not more from what it contains, than 
from wliat it suggests. 'Jlie veritable tone and manner and 
mind of the venerated pastor must be present to many a reader, 
and will open up the treasures of memory — recalling many a 
salutary lesson, and many a forgotten privile^*. As the de- 
lineation of a deeply pious mind, we think this Life is invaluable. 
A Brainerd, Martyn, and M'Cheyne, seem now and then raised 
up to exemplify spiritual religion, and keep up the standard of 
vital Christianity; but in ourjudcfment the piety of Dr. Heugh, 
although of a less exalted sentimentalism than that of tfacae 
sainted men, is of more wholesome influence, and open to more 
geurrnl imitation. It must do a Christian mind good to witness 
the Haine of devotion in these trnder bodily frames consuming 
the vessel in which it is kept, until it i» absorbed in Ciod, from 


whose presence it was kindled. It must persuade every one 
that thi-re is a vital reality in the regeneration and sanclifica- 
titfu of the soul. Yet how far off from tbeiT attainmenta the 
generality of miads, eren Christian and spirilual minds, are ; 
their temperament is a bar to any approximation to the form 
oS the others' experience. The impossibility discourages the 
attempt to imitate, and diminishes the practical worth of the 
exunple. But with a conBcientiousoess lively as any man's of 
whom we ever read, a piety deep, solicitous, and scrutinis- 
ing, a watchfulness and self- discipline almost morbidly active, 
there is no deep or strong current of emotion. Conscience as a 
spiritual faculty is in exercise, but always under the check 
oil a practical understanding. It is a sort of piety which will 
dline and douruth in the shop, the counting-house, and the 
market, as much as in the cloaet, the sanctuary, or the mission- 
field. It exemplifies the great desideratum of the world — a piety 
that will pervade the daily life of Cliristians, and subdue the 
world by meeting, rcprovint;, warning, itnd im-itioL; the sinner 
Id tv.-ry turn ;i[id riiuraciit ol' lii* lu-iliiiurj lifi.', .'\a :i livini; por- 
traiture of this form of piety, this is one of the most spiritual 
and spiritualizing of biographies. 

As a book for ministers, it is beyond price. His entire con- 
secration to his work — the importance assigned to every degree 
and form of discipline that may contribute to the successful dis- 
charge of his ministry — his efforts to improve and perfect his 
manner— his conscicnlousncss in preparing his sermons — his con- 
tinuous and indefatigable labour — bis keen observation of every 
thing that could instruct or guide him— his study of tJie human 
heart and conscience, in all the cases that came before him as a 
pastor — bis cultivation of intercourse with his ministerial bretliren 
— his cultivation of ihe heart, as an indispensable guide and helper 
to the understanding of the preacher — render his example one 
of the most fruitful of benefits to those who are entering, or are 
engaged in, the work of the ministry. 

His views of a natural delivery are most correct, and worthy 
of consideration by the entire body of the ministry : to avoid 
the monotonous bellow of some — -the sanctimonious and pe- 
dantic whine of others — the drivelling simper and drawl of others 
— and so to regulate and modulate the voice, that the tiling spoJien, 
not the sptakintj of it, shall occupy the mind of both speaker 
and hearer. It may seem unnecessary to say that, in our judg- 
ment. Dr. Heugh did not attain to a natural manner of speech. 
This is no discredit to his name; be honestly sought it, and was 
pre-eminent above his brethren in the natural style of his pulpit, 
and fspeciallv his platform sinccb. lint it was far from a 
eimply ««(«»■«'/ style. We never eould hear l>r. Ilciigh with- 


out the sensation that he was recollecting — ^i. e. speaking from a 
manuscript which he had committed to memory. His speech 
was natural enough in tone, except that it was speech with a 
certain amount of the free, spontaneous passion it expressed 
suppressed, lest the indulgence of the emotion too strongly should 
carry the memory away from its moorings. We advert to this, 
more because it seems to be implied in the work that Dr.Heugh's 
manner was natural, and, therefore, to be imitated. We arc per- 
suaded, on the contrary, that an imitation of it would be somehing 
obviously unnatural and ineffective. 

To the ministerial class the example of Dr. Heugh is pregnant 
with the most necessary instruction as to how they ought to de- 
mean themselves in the part which they will be certainly called 
to take in public questions of a secular or mixed character. The 
seclusion with which many are satisfied, seems to be a homage to 
the spirituality and awful responsibility of their office. But it 
is too indulgent to indolence and selfish timiditr to be held as 
self-evidcntly right. And, for our part, we dread the growth of 
that spirit not more for the pernicious influence upon the minis- 
terial mind and character, than from the injurious mfluence upon 
their reputation, and the endangering of their hold upon the 
afiections and deference of the people. The popular mind is 
ready enough in its thoughtlessness to count the position and 
calling of the minister one of ease and personal indulgence. They 
can form a very imperfect conception of other cares than those 
arising from the struggles and vicissitudes of secular business ; 
and of other toils than those which are directly performed by 
bodily labour. If, in addition to those misconceptions attaching 
to his position, they find him always sheltering himself in tlie 
storm to which otlicr right-hearted men expose themselves — ^re- 
tiring from reproach and misrepresentation, which his patriotic 
fellow-citizens arc content to bear, so as they may, under all risks, 
* defend the right ' — what will they tliink of him as an instructor 
and counsellor { With what power will the word of admonition 
come from his lips ! Buffeted and perplexed, and tempted in the 
toil and broil of life, they will answer the reproof of the recluse, ' If 
we were in tliy stead, we also could speak as thou dost.' He will 
become a mere prater and theorist in practical religion ; and will 
be instrumental in doing the very reverse of that which is the 
call and obligation of his office — he will be doing all in his power 
to divorce religion from the ordinary concerns of life, in which 
it has its main sphere for development and power. From this 
anti-christian error Dr. Heugh was, as we have already remarked, 
conspicuously exempt. 

But there is, undoubtedly, an error in the opposite extreme, 
which is not only an inroad uiH>n the time and energy which 


the Christian minister Bhould devote to his proper work, but pro- 
duces the secularization of his spirit and life, and degrades him 
from the position of a teacher to that of a political brawler and 
partisan. Sxperienco showa that there ie a class of minds so tm- 
etable and undisciplined — so much more capable of excited action 
and fervent speech, than of calm reflection and high- principled 
sutdfiutness in a riglit course — that they are almost certain to err 
in the extreme we are now discussing. For minds of this tem- 
perament we should almost say, in reference to every thing but 
the proper ministenal work, ' Touch not, taste not, handle not.' 
But the counsel is addressed to their weakness and disqualifica- 
tion for the honourable post which they occupy ; and it were 
better either that they did not occupy a ' chief place among the 
brethren,' or that they would give diligence to bring their mind 
up to thepitch of their vocation. 

Now, npon no part of Dr. Heugh's character do we look witli 
more unmingled satisfaction than upon the discretion and dignity 
which ho (lisphycd in takiii!; jiait in puhlir ritiiiirs. ITis upiuion 
was silduiii ui- n'uviT a secj-cl. l-'fw nun wno more eiLiidid and 
bold than he in the avowal of his views. Yet no one could sup- 
pose him to be immersed in politics. No party could claim him as 
their man, still less as their servant. Unreasonable faction would, 
no doubt, fret and rage at his interposition, when his powerfu! 
influence was employed in the scale opposite to its own. But it 
was passion and i'actiousness, not sense and reason, that censured 
him. It is wortli inquiry how the man who was conspicuous in 
his adherence to liberal politics, and was a leader in some of the 
most exciting agitations of his day, such as the Voluntary Church 
and Chuich-extension movements, should have escaped the injury 
and the reproach incident to his position. It was not from back- 
wardness; it was not iVom indecisive tiimining, or remarkable 
moderation in the utterance of his aiiinions. jlow then? It 
arose from the gencrnl K>!i(lilv and mntinitv of his views. They 
were evidently die result ol'doep lliinii,'lit niid lenj^lhencd exami- 
nation. He was ini;iij;t(l in tlie cause its, IT, not concerned about 
the party by whom it was pnimutid. Wlieii he appeared, it was 
as a m:in dtjin^' hom;ijrc to tlic ti-utli ; yielding, not reluctant ly, 
vet unavoidably, to the elaims of his couiitrv. his kind, or of his 
God upon him! He was thus free tiom all defences of liimself to 
others. He nec.led none in the court of conscience and of fiod, 
but the reetitiule of his cause ; and he would demean himself to 
give no other. "When we say he was not remaikably moderate, 
we mean, that sepaiating the question or the cause from all per- 
sonalities, either on oiie^ide ur another, lie had to deal witli it. 
not with Ihon. lie, (lierelo.v, could and did u.e all freedom of 
speech. His lahirllo ail nhi-indiiiii. a favourite form of aipument 


in his more popular harangues, in which the weaker points of the 
opposite cause were handled with a merry rather than a wicked 
familiarity and freedom, was like tickling an adversary to death. 
Yet there was nothing cynical, nothing to wound ; no venomous 
arrow left to rankle. Then he was pre-eminently wise in the 
amount of co-operation which he gave to any extra-ministerial 
engagements ; he would not let men forget that this was a mere 
occasional service ; that, as the merchant must not neglect his 
business in seeking the common weal, still less must the minister 
of Christ, who has to watch for souls. What he could spare from 
this highest of all claims, he was ready, he was under necessity 
to give to promote the social well-being of his species ; he did it 
heartily — as his duty. He conferred no favour, he dispensed no 
patronage. On the platform, among his fellow-citizens, he was 
par inter pares — no more than they. Inhere, not as a minister, 
but as a man, as a citizen. But we must not enlarge. It is an 
example for study — ^it breathes a noble, generous, manly spirit 
— it is the embodiment withal of a clear, and manly, and liboral 
judgment — it solves difficulties without arguing aeainst them 
— ^it dissipates ecclesiastical questions by snowing how, in the 
career of active and useful living, a man should treat the webs of 
the gossamer- spider which run athwart his path. 

Not less worthy of imitation was Dr. Heugh as a contro- 
versialist ; and if the ministerial class need practical instruction 
and example in anything, it is in this. To avoid the asperity of 
controversy, without impairing the strength of argument or the 
sternness of principle — to be gentlemanly, courteous, and chari- 
table, without simper and sentimentalism — to follow hard after 
truth, and not be irritated with those that miss the way them- 
selves, or would inadvertently mislead others — ^were things in 
which many have done virtuously, and, perhaps, Dr. Heugh 
excelled them all. 

In such fiery controversies as the Apocryphal^ when the Scot- 
tish ingenium fervidum shone out in its pristine intensity — the 
Voluntary Church Controversy ^ when all the selfishness and 
malignity which the State-church system could infuse into minds 
otherwise good and generous had to be borne without retalia- 
tion — in the Church Extension Movement^ when the motives and 
designs of an exclusive and dominant party had to be unravelled 
from the apparently excellent and Christian scheme under which 
they had concealed themselves — in the Anti-slavery Agiiaiitm, 
when, in a city of West India traders, a man had to meet the 
most powerftu and concentrated opposition to which any move* 
ment was ever subjected — ^in the Atonement Controtersy^ when 
cherished friends were unhappily arrayed in too obstinate anti- 
pathy on both sides — and when his ' Irenicum* (beautiful erobodi- 


mcnt of the spirit and principles of his whole life !) was thravn 
upon tlie tronbled waters, and contributed to save the Church to 
vhich he belonged from being driven back into the pernicioua 
mysticism of hyper-Calvinism, or driven loose into semi-Pelagian 
Ucentiouencsa — in all these Dr. Hcugh bore a most important 
part — uttered distinct and decided views, with the frank plainneafl 
of »pecch which he could not modify. Yet in not one or all of 
them could it be said, his judgment ia beclouded by evil temper, 
his persistence is obstinacy, his argument is personal, or his 
triumph boastful. 

Every thoughtful reader will perceive that such a man, with so 
diversified and symmetrical parts, was not likely to leave any 
one work, or originate and perfect any one scheme by which his 
memory should live. But whether or not his name may be often 
repeated by coming generations, his memory, as that of the 
euiDGQtly just, will be for a blessiug. He has left one great 
VOrt— « congreeatioo raised by hia labonrs into greatness, and 
led by his tcacning into the w^iys of ^^odlinesp, trainod to a 
remai-kable liberality in wuiks of charity! -m'^ itiultii-lyiiig itself 
by friendly division, so as to become two bands, zealous to stem, 
by Christian influence, the rising tide of corruption and vice in 
the midst of which it is placed. 

"\Ve know no character more worthy of study and imitation — 
no biographical work that may be more generally useful; and 
we desire for ourselves no other memorial than to have lived a 
godly, useful, honourable life, and to have died triumphing in 
Christ, as did Dr. Hcugh. 


AST. VI.— 1. Del/n/r l>i the House of Commons. Juhj 11. 1850. 

2. The L(iK Mayinme. Au-just, 1850, • T/i,- Bll! iu Jx^lalf of 

After many vexatious and disheartening delays, the gallows 
was once again put on its trial before the House of Commons, 
on Thursday evening, the eleventh of Jidylast; and on that 
occasion it escaped a hostile vote by a majority of six ! — a result 
which, if the ' Law Magazine' may be believed, has filled the 
advocates of capital punishment with ' great surprise ' and 
' alarm.' We had not intended to devote any more of' our space 
to this topic, for we conceive that all argument upon it is ended ; 
but the debate which arose, upon the question was in every 


respect so remarkable, that we feel it to be our duty to draw 
attention to it. 

Before we do so, however, we pause to express the sense of 
indignant sorrow which we feel at the lukewarmness of those 
who call themselves the friends of the cause in Parliament. Out 
of a hundred and ten pledged supporters of Mr. Ewart's motion, 
only forty chose to attend the debate. We have stated above 
that, as it was, Mr. Ewart was in a very small minority : now, 
had but half of the avowed abolitionists been present, as they 
undoubtedly ought to have been, the cause would have achieved 
an actual, as well as a virtual, triumph. We will only express 
our hope that the Society for the Abolition of Capital Punish- 
ments will not fail to remind the constituencies of these defaulters 
of the ease and unconcern' with which they can break their 
promises. Another election is certainly impending — * let them 
look to their bond.' 

The debate itself was not a long one. Mr. Ewart opened the 
discussion in a temperate and able speech, and Mr. Hume se- 
conded the motion with characteristic terseness and common- 
sense. The Home Secretary spoke next, in what we are bound 
to call one of the most feeble and faltering addresses ever 
delivered by a minister in behalf of an abuse ; and then followed 
Mr. Bright, with a speech of wonderful power and ability. 
A few sensible words from Mr. Adair, the member for Cam- 
bridge, and a brief reply on the whole question, by Mr. Ewart, 
closed the debate. 

As we have on past occasions presented the case of the aboli- 
tionists so fully, it is unnecessary for us to enter at any length, 
on the present opportunity, into the arguments of Mr. Ewart 
and his supporters. Our main purpose is to sifl the speech of 
the Home Secretary, who was the only man that could be found 
to defend in the House of Commons the practice of judicial 
murder, and to show the flimsiness of the grounds on which Sir 
George Grey claims the right to continue it. 

But we have a preliminary word or two to say to some one 
else. Before we address ourselves to the easy task of encounter- 
ing the Home Secretary, we would briefly dispose of a far less 
dignified and scrupulous antagonist. We allude to the writer, 
in the ' LawMagazine,' of an article entitled, ' The Bill in behalf 
of Murder.' This production is so uncandid, so impertinent, 
and so illogical, that we can scarcely command our patience 
whilst we reply to it ; and we promise its author that we shall 
consume but little time in rebuking him. 

He first accuses the abolitionists of ' falsifying the statistics, 
which incontrovertibly establish the fact that all the grave crimes 
have enormously increased of which the punishment has ceased 


to be capital — whilst of raarder, which alone continues to be 
capitally punished, llie number haa ecarcely increased at all.' 
Now tbifi charge is utterly untrue, and the writer knew that it 
was untrue when be made it. The crimeB relieved of capital 
punislunent have not increased ; and murder has increased, very 
terribly. He further alludes to a correspondence between Mr. 
Riiwtoa, and Mr. Symons, the barrister, in the ' Morning Chro- 
nicle,' last spring ; and has the coolness to say that a final blow- 
was therein given to the misreprcs Dotations of the abolitionists. 
That correspondence we perfectly remember ; and we particu- 
larly recollect that the chief result of it was to demonsti-ate the 
utter worthlesaneBs of Mr. Redgrave's tables, inasmuch as, on 
the one hand, they include, iu their comparisona of capital 
offences, offences which were never capital at all — and, on the 
other hand, classify, under ' Attempts to murder,' attempts which 
never had killing in view. As, however, both Sir George Grey 
and Mr. Ewart abandon, the statistical argument altogether 
rdoTibtlcss because they have both diticovcriLii the cjross inaccu- 
racy of the criminal returns), iind as, moreover, we have 
heretofore said so much upoti tins branch of the subject, we 
shall decline to re-enter upon it further. AV'e will simply direct 
the attention of the writer in the ' Law Magazine ' to the 
records for the year 1849, which completely eoutradict his con- 
clusions, and refute his arguments. 

To proceed. The writer under review next goes on to deny 
that public opinion is opposed to the gallows: and he attempts 
to prove his point by saying that the number of cither meetings 
or petitions against death-punishment has been very slight, 
'llic hardihood of such an assertioii is astounding. ^V'hy, there 
is not a town of note in Great Britain which has not protested, 
both by public meeting and by petition, in the moi-t earnest and 
emphatic manner, against the practice of judicial homicide. The 
great champion of the abolitionists, J[r. Gilpin, has, (o our know- 
ledge, been invited to meetings in every part of the kingdom — 
from Brighton to Edinburgh, and from Yarmouth to the Land's 
Knd — at every one of which crowded and enthusiastic assem- 
blages have utiauimously demanded tlie total and immediate 
abolition of the pain of death. And as to petitions, what the 
' Law Magazine ' niav call ' a slight number ' we do not know ; 
but this we know, that the petitions against death- punishments 
presented to the legislature during the last few years, arc not to 
be numbered by hundreds, nor the signatures to them by 
hundreds of thousands. For the ' Law Magazine ' to talk of 
'flagrant f;dseboods,' after this demonstration of its oivn mendacity 
or ignorance, is, indeed, ' too bad.' 

Following this display of wilful misrepresentation , comes a re- 


suggestion of private executions instead of public ones. Upon 
this point, however, we do not intend to offer more than 
we have already advanced; believing, with Mr. Cobden, that 
Englishmen would never permit a punishment which could not 
bear the light of open day. As to excluding the ^ress from 
private executions, the idea is too preposterous to require refuta- 
tion. The press finds its way everywhere ; and justly so, too— 
for the people of England have a right to know what is done by 
their rulers. 

And here we quit the * Law Magazine,' and return to the 
Home Secretary. 

The only grounds on which Sir George Grey claims the exclu- 
sive right and monopoly of homicide, are, that 'he believes the 
continuance of the punishment of death as a part of the penal 
law necessary for the interests of society, and stronglv demanded 
by that regard for the protection and security of life which 
government is bound to afford.' This is all. Life is to be 
invaded, crime is to be increased, the feelings of society arc to 
be outraged and lacerated, and homicide is to be taught to our 
people, merely because the Home Secretary, in the teeth of all 
evidence and experience, persists in entertaining ' an opinion 
that the abolition of the law would lead to the increased destruc- 
tion of life.' Now let us not be misunderstood. For con- 
scientious opinion and honest conviction we have the sincerest 
respect ; and we highly honour the man who, in spite of all 
opposition and odium, maintains his ground where he knows 
himself to be right ; — where, however, the determination is ob- 
stinate, we have at least a right to require that the proof be 
unquestionable ; but, in the Home Secretary's case, we have not 
only no evidence to support his position, not only no rational 
ground on which his belief is based, but positive proof from 
actual and frequent experience, that his opinion is erroneous — 
and, in addition to this, we have Sir George Grey's own con- 
fession that the necessity which he pleads is ' not demonstrable.' 
We therefore put it to the practical people of England whether 
they will any longer permit, or countenance, this absurdity. Their 
chief officer of state kills human beings — ^because in his 'opinion* 
it is strictly and inevitably necessary ; yet, when he is asked to 
prove the necessity which he pleads, he says he cannot do it ! 

The simple fact seems to be, that Sir George Grey, instead of 
forming an opinion for himself, arrives at his conclusion by look- 
ing through other people's spectacles. 'From the statements 
of those,' he says, * who are most competent to form an opinion, 
I believe that the punishment of death is the most dreaded of all 

Eunishments.' So that instead of judging by facts, he prefers to 
e guided by statements which are opposed to facts. Here are 

I tuBM am 


Bome plain questions for the right honourabli- gentleman ; and 
nntil they are answered, it is ridiculous for him to lalk about 
' opinions.' Is it not a fact that the experiment of discontinuing 
the pntiishment of death for murder, has been tried at many 
I and in many places, and has always succeeded? Is it 
t fnct that Tuscany abolished death for murder, and found 
r diminish directly ? Is it not a fact that Russia, Prussia, 
B, Holland, Germany, Naples, India, and somo of the 
States of America, have proved, by direct experiment, that the 
leas they kill for mnrder, the fewer murders there are ? Is it 
not a fact that in Great Britain itself, it is found that when you 
hang for murder most relentlessly, murders increase ; and that 
as commutations, or acquittals on the ground of insanity, are 
allowed to prevail, murders diminish ? These truths have 
repeatedly been established, here and in other publications ; 
and Aey are now bo patent that the Home Secretary dure not 
attempt to deny them — yet he expresses his ' opinion ' that the 
al>oliii,,r\ r,f our (U'ath-Inw would k'iul !'■> rlie iiicn-a'-fd (l,sime- 
tion of life ; and that this punishment, which evidently does not 
deter from crime, but, on the contraiy, incites toils commission, 
is, ' in the judgment of those most competent to form an opinion, 
the punishment most dreaded by criminals.' 

Wc should exceedingly like to know from the Home Secre- 
tary who those ' most competent persons ' arc. AA^ill he tell us 
that they are the judges of the land ? "Why we find from Mr. 
Ewart's speech that five of these august personages have ex- 
pressed strong objections to capital punishments, and that three 
of them have avowed their readiness to discontinue them. Fur- 
ther, we find from 5[r. Ilright's speech that a judge of iho 
land said to him, ' Never take the opinions of judges on capital 
punishment, for if you had done so, you M'ould be still hnngiiig 
for .'■hecpstealiiig and forgery.' Indeed, wc well know what 
insane folly Lords Eldon, Eilenborough, and others put forth 
from time to time, when various modifications of the death-law 
were propounded in Parliament. So it cannot be the judges 
to whom we are to give heed on this question, "\\'ho, then, are 
the oracles '! Probably gaoiers, turnkeys, magistrates, and oilier 
officials, interested iu tlie present institutions of IJie country ; 
men who, as Mr. I'riglit mo-t nptlysnid, arc ' the mere creatures 
of a system ; who thiidi that what they have seen done at every 
assize, must be just and necessary.' Or, more probably still, the 
' most competent persons ' dimly and mysteriously alluded to by 
the Home Secretary, arc the Newgate ordinary and the hang- 
man, the one of whom gets ])aid for readiTig lije burial sirvice 
over a livini; man, and'tlie otiier of whom gels paid for killing 
him. "We Iru-t tlu.t when ^ir Georg.' Gr.'V next refers to the 

Vol.. XXVITI. Y 



' most competent persons ' from whom he imbibes his opinions, 
he will let us know their names, that we may pay them all 
possible respect. 

The single and ultimate point to which we are at length 
brought in reference to the whole topic, is the correctness or 
incorrectness of the Home Secretary's opinion, that the punish- 
ment of death is the penalty most dreaded by criminals; and 
although we have considered this assertion at some length on 
past occasions, we will here devote another page or two to its 
final demolition. We will argue first from reason, and afterwards 
from fact. 

Reasoning upon this matter, then, we argue that inasmuch as 
the fear of death is just the only fear which we cannot distinctly 
realize and bring nome to our minds, any punishment based 
upon it must necessarily fail in its effect. The fact is undeniable. 
From the moment when the serpent persuaded our first parents 
to taste the forbidden fruit, the belief that ' we shall not surely 
die ' has invariably accompanied existence. We have a faith 
in our own vitality which nothing can shake or alarm. Reason 
asserts it, consciousness confirms it, pulpits teach it, and hope 
clings to it above all besides. ' All men think all men mortal 
but themselves,' says the poet ; and the statement is most true. 
Investigate every department of human conduct, and the result 
will be the same ; death will be found to be practically defied 
and disbelieved in. The traveller, the sportsman, the soldier, 
the duellist, the student, the sensualist, the drunkard, the suicide, 
are all positive proofs that the fear of death has no restraining 
power ; or if any, still not enough to counteract the emotions, 
the desires, the passions of our nature, and therefore not enough 
to exercise any restraint over the criminal. Lord Bacon was 
probably as competent a person as any of Sir George Grey's 
present advisers ; hear what he says on the matter — * There is no 
passion in the mind of man so weak but it mates and masters 
the fear of death ;' and if this be so— if the weakest passion is 
stronger than the dread of death, how can it be supposed or 
believed that the fierce, overpowering, maddening passions which 
lead men to commit murder are to be held in check by it ? 

And now having shown that murderers cannot be restrained 
by the threat of death upon the gallows, let us proceed to show 
that thev are not. On this head our amount of evidence is 
overwhelming. From the moment when Adam plucked the 
forbidden fruit in spite of the penalty of death attaqhed to the 
act, down to the hour in which we write, every act of every 
man establishes our assertion, that the fear of death is never 
practically realized. M'e turn, however, from general experience 
to particular fact, and confine our illustrations to the records 


appertaining to the crime of murder in our own day, and espe- 
ciallv to those cited by Mr. Bright in hie maaterly speech during 
the late debate. 

We cannot do better than quote Mr. Bright's 

a vrords :- 

' In 1844 (he aays), at the spring assizes of Nenagh, four men were 
hw^ed for murder. Such an csecution taking place in ii small town 
should, according to the right honourable genlleman'a argument, have 
produced a terrific sensation. But in a week, another murder took 
place on the high road, close to the town. Within the sis months 
rullowing, there were in the immediate neighbour hood eixteen mur- 
derB, and sixteen atlempts to murder, and fifty-two casea of firing into 
dwelling houses .... In 1846 there were three men hanged at 
Nenagh for conapimry to murder, and the bodies having been given 
to the friends of the criminals, a procession took place on the foUoiring 
Sunday, and the funeral was received with every demonstration of 
pect by the people. There was another case in 1843, In which a 
a of the name of MoyUn was btmged, and it appeared that both his 



^itli the 

^ fiit. 

, Tlii^ 

when questioned about his impending fjito, suid, ■' Wliat i 
in two moments all will be over.' Aiiorlier ense occurred at the 
spring assizes of I.imcrick, in I8'30. Two biotlier-i, named Gjvin, were 
hanged in that town, the one seveiilteii. the other nineteen years of 
age. They had murdered a man who had seized their falhor's goods 
for debt, and cast him into gaol, where he died. This was clearly a 
case of vindictive retaliation ; one of those which the example of 
capital punishment was intended to prevent. I have it on the authority 
of the priest who attended them, that tliey had lived nest door to a 
man named Fogarty, who liad been han;:cd ot the ]irevioiis Ijimcrick 
a-ssizes, and they toid the priest that having seen Fogarty die so re- 
signed, they were perfectly satisfied and willing to meet the' same fate.' 

Xow let it not be said tliat thcs,^ are (■:^coptloiinl From 
the number of such iur^taiiccs botli in l^n^nbuid and iii Iii'hind.ilicri; 
can be no doubt that they arc saiiipkn — th^it (licy fairly iriiie- 
scnt the general, if not univi r>al, elfi'ct of the purii^bineiit of 
death upon ihf niasa of iiianldud. Certain it is, that ilui-f is not 
the &lis;htest evidence lliat the tirroi- of death cv^-r re^.lrauHKl a 
single human beinq; fioni a meditated cnnii- ; and i<^ually eiitaiii 
it U that every niuidef is in itjclf a pu-itive and silf- 
evidcnt proof that the fiar of diatb doe.s i/ul restiain. 

Thus, then, t\w wlilary pha on b.'lialf of the gallows, urged 
by its &olu defender in the Hou-c of Commons, vanishes into 
air. It has not .a particle of truth in it, nor a particle of solidity. 
h is ' such stiili* as dreams arc made of;' and the sooner we 
reject it the better. As we have said before, so we say a^'ain — 
the question remains not with ihe parliament, hut with the 
\K(jpk. It i-'.iiiin.- b'lt a lilth' prcs-ori- from wiiliont lo ijel 


rid of the hideous paraphernalia of the gihbet for ever. Wc 
put it to any one of ordinary perceptions whether the feeble 
position which the Home Secretary has now assumed, is not 
tantamount to his saying, ' When the people of England are 
ready for the change, so am T.* To the people of England, 
then, we appeal in this matter. We call upon them to make 
their final protest against the death-law, through the press, from 
the platform, and in the jury-box; and we promise them that in 
such case they will within a very few years purge the land from 
the bloodstain which has rested upon it through so many gene- 

Art. VII. — A Treatise on Benefit Building Societies. By Arthur 
Scratchley, M.A. London : J. W. Parker. 

Whkn the number of persons interested in building societies 
is considered, the large amount of property invested in them, 
and the moral questions arising out of their management, no 
apology will be required for bringing forward the subject in this 
journal. Many of our readers are as well acquainted with the 
structure and working of these associations as ourselves, and 
would be able at once to appreciate our strictures, but probably 
there are others to whom our remarks will be rendered more in- 
telligible by a brief explanation of the nature, objects, and 
management of the societies referred to. 

A building society, then, is an association of individaals, who, 
by means of periodical payments, form a joint fund, to be em- 
ployed from time to time in loans at interest, on the security of 
buildings. The loans are made to members only. A member 
receiving a loan, gives up thenceforth his share, or a Gcrtain 
portion of his share, in tne society's funds, llie sum lent is, 
indeed, an advance in lieu of his share, or a certain part of it. 
Those members who do not receive advances are entitled, at the 
dissolution of the society, or on the termination of a fixed period, 
to share in the profits. The whole society, therefore, is divided into 
two classes — borrowers and lenders. The payments of each are 
in some societies alike, in others unequal, but in either eaae the 
payments are continued till the profits are shared. Both parties 
are supposed to be benefited by tne connexion — one by obtaining 
loans on easier terms than ordinary, and the other by securing a 


higher per centagc than can coronionly be obtained for small 

We have endeavoured to include in the above brief description 
two classes of building societies — one terminating when the nn- 
adranced shares have accumulated to a certain sum ; and the 
other pcriuanent, but dividing the profits at certain periods. 
Most of the societies ate of tnc former class, 

Keepecting the early history of building societies, our author 
informB us that — 

•The fitBl building society which can be traced, was rounded in 1816, 
under the auspices of the Earl of Selkirk, It was a village club in 
Ktritcud bright, in Scotland. Other institutions of a Rimilar kind were 
aflerwarda established in the same kingdom, under the title of " Me- 
twges," and the system was soon adopted in England by societies formed 
in the neighbourhood of Manchester and Liverpool, and other parts of tbs 
Kotth. After the year 1830, they increased so rapidly, that on the 14th 
of July. 183G, a special act (6 and 7 'Willlnm IV. cap. 32), was passed 
for llicir [■ncrnira.-cmL'iit and |i ml en ion, in Un; pii.vlsioni (jf ivl.ich 
were embodiod certain clauses applicaWc to thi^ir conduct, which were 
included in the statutes relatinjr lo Friendly Societies, passed in the 
reigns of George III. and George IV. As a proof of tlicirnumbcrs, it 
may be slated, that up to the 31st December, 1818, there had been 
registered in the United Kingdom upwards of 2.000 societies, of which, 
in England alone, IGO were ad<lcd during the past year — a similar in- 
crease having taken place in Scotland and Ireland. Of these societies, 
there is evidence to sliow that from 800 to 900 are yet in esistencu, the 
total income of wjijeli is calculated at not less iliuu f2,;i(IO.OOO a year. 
In fact, there arc two or three of tiiem whij.-.c muiual Incomes arc; be- 
tween £30,000 and CM.dOO c-aeli.'— I'li. 5, 0. 

Anionq the privileges gr:intcd by the Act of Pailiamont above 
nferred to, is the power of charging a higher rate of interest 
than wa-s foimcily alhiwed. 

The amount of subscriptions, the value of tbc sliares, and 
other particulars, liavc varied in dilfercnt societies. ' In most of 
the old Liverpool and Manchester societies the shares were fixed 
at £160, and tlie monthly payments at iiOs. per share. Hence 
many succeeded in tcrmiuittiug succcs.sfully.' Tiie succ<'ss of 
these early societies promoted the formation of others, in many 
of which tliere was an injurious departure from tried and safe 
arrangements. Tln/ir ])r'ijeetois being eager to secure a larger 
profit, altered the proportion between the subscription and tbc 
ultimate value of the share. According to our aiitlior, ' by far 
the majority' of existing societies 'are based on rates of sub- 
scription fundamentally unsound.' Societies have been formed in 
which the suLscrijitioii is 10,s-. a month tor inverters, and 14*. 
a month lor borrowers, the ultlnuUe value of the shares tlliO; 


and members have been led to expect that that amount would 
accrue in ten or eleven years — an expectation not to be realized 
except by charging an exorbitant interest, higher than is really 
charged, thougn that is sufficiently high. Ihe announcements 
put forth by some of the prospectuses have been most fallacious 
and absurd, even to the extent of promising investing members 
20 per cent., while the borrowers were to pay scarcely 2 per 
cent. ; as if forgetful that whatever profit the invester obtains the 
borrower must pay. 

The capital error of promising larger gains than the interest 
charged can possibly produce — whether it has arisen from mis- 
calculation, or want of calculation, or a wish to deceive — ^is of 
very mischievous tendency. The lending member who depends 
upon receiving a certain sum at the prescribed time^ will be 
disappointed on finding that he must continue to pay when he 
hoped to receive ; ana the borrower has still more reason to 
complain. In many instances, the advantages promised to the 
lender ought not to be realized if they could, and could not if 
they ought. We know that money, like all other marketable 
articles, must vary in its price, and that though the law may fix 
the maximum rate of interest, the law will be evaded, more 
interest will in some way be given, when it suits the convenience 
of the contracting parties. Still it is unjust for any individuab 
to avail themselves of the mysterv of complicated arrangements 
to allure and deceive a borrower into the payment of a higher 
rate than is current, and than he would knowingly pay. Now 
let us examine the doings of a modern building society, not 
taking one of the worst. ITie lender is required to pay £6 
a-year for ten or eleven years, as he is taught to expect, and he 
is to receive in return £120. The subscription being paid 
monthly, gives an advantage over yearly p<iyments it is true, 
and there are also entrance fees, and fiines, but these minor 
sources of profit will not be deemed by a cautious financier as 
much more than sufficient to meet the expenses of management, 
loss of interest from money not being always employed, and other 
contingencies. We may therefore put the matter thus : — What 
rate of interest is required that £6 a-year invested at ccllnpound 
interest may accumulate by the end of the tenth year to 120 .' 
Also what must be the rate if the time be eleven years ? Mr. 
Scratchley's table (Tab. ix.), we find is not sufficiently extended 
to furnish an immediate answer to either question. In another 
part of the book, however, the rate required for ten years is 
given — 14 J per cent. For eleven years the rate is about 
£11'4. Even if we make allowance for the £6 being paid by 
monthly instalments, by deduct in^^ about IJ in each case, tlic 
rates would still be far too hi«;h for a loan on real security, 


thoQgh the mode of repayment be accommodating. However, 
those usually charged are lower. Then we come to the other 
branch of the problem : What is the interest actually received ? 
A society proposing the above-nienlioaed profit for the invester, 
will charge a borrowing member 4s. a month extra — that Is, £8 8s. 
a year. The sum advanced him for liis share differs in diSerent 
societies, and varies in the same society according to the time 
when the advance is made. Wc may say £63 in the first year of 
the society's existence. Dividing the annual payment, £84 by 
63, we obtaiu£'13S3, the annuity paid for every pound advanced. 
Ucing ono of Mr. Scratchlcy's tables (Tab. xi.), we find that 
£'1344 is the annuity for eleven years at 7 per cent., purchase- 
M.\Ae by the outlay of £1. If then the society should terminate 
ta eleven years, the interest paid would be 7 per cent. Had wc 
reckoned according to monthly payments, the result would have 
been about 7^ per cent. But at the lowest, to produce the profit 
pcoposed, tnoro than 10 per cent, is required. The society, 
therefore, carmot clo.-c ;it. lln; time c(i!Ufiii])Iiiti.d, for ihc aliarcs 
will not have attained their proposed value. IJoth classes of 
members must continue tlieir payments somewhat longer. By 
the aid of the tables we have referred to, it is easily found that 
about twelve years will be the whole time required. If that 
period be completed, the clear profit must be nearly 9 per cent. 
The interest actually paid by the borrower will exceed !) per 
cent. But we would ask, did the society inform him, or did 
he suppose, that the interest would be so high? When a man 
borrows of his neighbour a given sum, nt a fixed ruto of interest, 
and repays the principal Ltt one paymi'Ut, he ch ^rly under>taDds 
the wliolc transaction. If he borrows of a building .society the 
case is very different ; repaying by more than a hundred instal- 
ments, without an exact statement of aeeount at each payment, 
he does not know wlmt inleiTst he pays. Many of those who 
obtain advances arc ignorant men, not likely to make very 
accurate calculations, and arc liable to be deceived by a s|>ecious 
prospectus. The dilference in commercial value between the 
loan of a given sum for a term of years, and the loan of a similar 
sum to be repaid by annual inbtalnieiils m a like term of years, 
is sufficiently evident ; yet we have seen the prospectus of u 
building society, in which the projectors, scorning to lose sight 
of this ditforencc, compare the total paynienis in the two cases, 
and then triumphantly exhibit the favourable terms on which 
monev could be obtained from the societv. 

As a guide to those of our readers who are unaccustomed to 
this kind of calculation, wc subjoin a brief table, showing the 
rate per cent, per annitm for a lew dillVrent terms of years re- 
quired, in order that an aminal payment should aeeuniulntc to nii 


amount twenty times as great; e.g. £6 annual payment to 
become £120. Small fractions are rejected : — 

Per Cent. Temn. 

5 14J 

7 13 

9 12 

11-4 11 

14-5 10 

This supposes the payment made at the close of the year ; and 
it is safer to reckon so. A successful society may^ perhaps, gain 
half a year, or three quarters, in consequence of the payments 
being made monthly. 

In all terminating societies, there must obviously be a difficulty 
in profitably employing the funds towards the close of the period, 
as the repayments must take place in so short a time. Provision 
is commonly made for this case by a regulation compelling 
members, from time to time, to withdraw some portion of the 
unemployed capital. This, though a needful remedy, of course 
deprives the invester of a part of the profit he would otherwise 
obtain. The only efifectual way in which this difficulty can be 
met without loss, appears to be by making the society permanent 
—of this kind of society we will speak presently ; but, before 
doing so, wc wish to notice a fault or two in management which 
may exist in societies of either class. 

The practice of leaving to the decision of the managers, who 
are more likely to be investors than borrowers, the amount to be 
advanced in respect of shares, seems objectionable. If applica- 
tions are brisk, there is a temptation to deal hardly with the 
borrower. And the case is much worse, if, as sometimes has 
been done, bidding or competition is allowed; especially if 
biddings are made a second or third time. Members not wishing 
to borrow, have an opportunity of raising the discount. Even if 
only one bidding is allowed, and that by word of mouth, the evil 
is not entirely removed, for tliose desirous of borrowing may 
still offer unreasonably high discount to secure the loan. Mr. 
Scratchlcy tells us that * cases continually occur where discounts 
for £120 shares are given as high as £70, and even £80 in the 
first year' fp. 71). 

Such instances are disgraceful to any society in which they are 
permitted to occur. ITie investors who thus hasten to be rich are 
not innocefit. The proper course, it appears to us, is to register 
in a table, with the rules of the society, the sum that will be ad- 
vanced in successive jXTiods of the society's duration. Appli- 
cants may then be taken in the order in winch they have applied. 
This »jeenis better than balloting » as being more certain and less 

ntrii-DiNn societirs. S29 

The preceding rcpicsentations lend to show that many build- 
ing societies are on unsound principles, and cannot realize the 
hopes held out by their projectors ; and also that in the nianage- 
ment of some of them there is much that is objectionable. 'Ihe 
apparent evidence of prosperity which annual accounts present, 
is not to be relied on. This our author clearly shows. He ad- 
duces ' balance sheets' in which the discount on shares is entered 
as profit, and the society is reckoned to be a gainer by that 
amount, as if already received, whereas it is not actually re- 
coiTablo till the lapse of several years. 

What may be the proportion of societies open to the foregoing 
etrictures, we cannot say. Mr. Scratchley anticipates that the 
' impartial reader' of liie remarks will become satisfied : — 

' That not one in twenty, or even in a greater number, can possibly 
reoUze for its members, whether invester« or borrowers, the advanta- 
geoQB reaulls originally promised ; and that at the various epochs of their 
expected termination, lliero will be found such a. deficiency of money as 
moat deprive the possesBors of iinadvaneed shares of a considerable 
portioo of the accumulation which they had been led to cspccE. That, 
in muiy cases, so far from receiying £130 per share, they will obtain 
less than £75, and tliat, if not dieposed to accept whatever sum may be 
tliea offered to them, they will be forced to oontiuue their Bubscriptions 
for several years beyond the ipecified time,' — P. 48. 

Whether sucli conclusions are more general than the facts 
would warrant, sK; \y.tvc not tbi' means ol MseiTtaiiiiTig ; bul that 
many societies must liiil of fulfilling the hopes that were held out 
by their projectors, cannot be doubted. 

We must now briefly notice the plan of permanent building 
socii'ties, which our auliior, not without reason, regards as much 
to be preferred to the tt'iminating system : — 

' The members are separated, as before, into two classes — investors 
and borroivcrs. 

* The iiivcslcrs pay a ccrlain nionflilj siibstTiptlon during a fi.rril 
number of vears. calculiiteU as sufficient f;>r the rralizatifiii of 'tln^ir 
shares, at the cinl of wliiili timo tlic amount due is paid lo tlirm. and 
they secede from llic a'siujalion as far as siicli sliares arc concerned. 
The investers rqiresciil llie ]iro|irii'lors of tbe society. New members 
can enter at any time. ami conimi net llif ir ^llb^^■i]llilms willioiit paying 
up any arrears or any iiKr(:i''c on ibc orif;itial enlranee fee, ivliorens, in 
iermlnatin<t socielie*. ilie Ro cm entering is increased « itliuiit sufficient 
lea-on year by year, till fumi biin^ crifjinally only 2,s. Cd., il is in some 

Other advantages ol' jicrninncnt socitlies are specified. Per- 
haps the mo^t iinpiirtniit in, that 

* A mLuibcr cm ;il any time btiiimc a borroinr, and ycl li.iv,' bis 

3S0 Tennyson's in mbmoriam. 

monthly payments required being less as the duration of the k 
extended.' — P. 64. 

Rules for such a society are given at length. They appc 
have been carefully drawn up — the calculations seem to be 
founded, the money arrangements are definite, and no exp 
tion is raised but such as may be fulfilled. To a point or tiv 
are inclined to make some exception. Seven per cent, is r 
high for loans on good security, and probably six per cent. ^ 
be found sufficient to secure five clear to the investei*s. It is 
the borrower would plainly understand what he had to pay 
could judge for himself — he would not be, as in some soct 
led on in the dark. Wc do not quite like the arrangement 
the trustees shall hold office only during the pleasure o: 
directors (Rule xxiv.) Responsible men acting as trustees no 
in some circumstances, prove a useful safeguard betweei 
managers and the members. If judiciously selected, the n 
sity for removing a trustee could be of only very rare o 
rence, and we are disposed to think would be better Icfl t 
decision of a general meeting. In permanent societies more 
in terminating ones, it is important to have ample security ag 
fraud, and we woiild suggest that requiring bonds Iron 
manager and treasurer, if not from the directors, and also hi 
half-yearly meetings of the members, instead of yearly, mig 

In concluding this imperfect notice of an important subjec 
commend to those who are connected, or intend to be connc 
with building societies, a perusal of Mr. Scratchley's book, 
is well acquainted with his subject, and treats it in a thor 
and luminous manner. The investigations in the Appe 
respecting interest, discount, and annuities, will be interesti 
the scientific, and the tables which follow will be useful t 
practical man. 

Art. VIII. — In Memoriam, Second Edition. London : Edward U 

1860. Feap. 8vo. Pp. 210. 

A HIGHER contentment exists for the student of poetry, tha 
enjoyment of consummate art itself. It is the revealraci 
greatness in the spirit of the artist. After receiving 
draughts of delight from the fair idealisms of the Shaksp 
world, after standing face to face with nature and reality i 


ized ; whnt keener delight, what farther elevation remain for us ? 
what, but the realization through these avenues, of the might 
and beauty of that imperial spirit itself, which speaka to us across 
the ages, in many voices, but to one intent — the expression of 
its own large self; vaguely, yet with gi'owing intelligibility, 
commensurate to our growing capability of sight. ' Dear is man 
to man,' truly; above all dear, seen in such full light ; tlirough 
such transfiguring media ; in noble represented stature, by these 
sovereigns of the world. 

Indestructible, is the natural faith in the unity of the high 
poetic nature. Instinctively, we look to see the true man ; f 
wherever stands the true poet. In many, to a certain extent 
endowed, the gift has been a thing apart; the poet or artist 
but the vehicle of an inspiration not penelrallng his being, the 
apostle of a reality to which liis life was a stranger ; the owner 
of a splendid talent, yet the essential inferior of crowds of un- 
known of high capacity of soul, who, not endued with the 
lesser gift, have lived a sUent life in every generation. Yet does 
the old belief stand firm. It has animated every true age, every 
earnest poet speaking on the matter, — a Ben Jonson, as a Cole- 
ridge. By the greatest, it is not disappointed ; above all, if we 
look to the inner spirit, rather than outward guise of the poet's 
bring. Gifted narrow minds, and viiiatcd wilU occur. But 
Miltons, Speiiscfs, Schiilcrs, Shakspores, Goethcs, occur also. 
The greatest heights arc the fairest ; the most universal minds 
the serenest, most healthful. Power at its fullest, and ' gentle- 
ness ' of spirit, in the old true sense, mingle. Wisdom, mastery, 
sight, are but the correlatives of truth of being ; their union, 
greatness, in the high sense. Whatever the particular seeming 
"ov actual violations, the union is by the lover of the poet, ever 
seen lo be the general law of nature. 

Such content tlie present volume aUbrds. That Alfred Tcn- 
llvslHl'^ was an eminently elevated, pure nature, svmpathizing, 
i^enuinc, letincd, was recognizable by every admirer of the 
■ I'lieiii-,' and ' I'rincess.' It was feit likewise, to be a reserved 
and I'astidious one. In the perfection of his skill, his objcctive- 
ness, ilio purely artis/i'c character of every line and iina{;e, ho 
seeiiud ituioved and distant. Rarely was a direct senliment or 
symjiatliy, tlic central intlueiice of a poem ; as in the lyrical 
b'idlad- and the nature-pieces of Wordsworth. All wants arc now 
amply compensated by one continuous rovealment of our poet 
in hi™ ^piiilual individuality; one exclusive outlet of personal 
feeling and syni|i;ithies. Tlicir expression is enlarged into rele- 
vance with univer>al humanity. And the evidence of personal 
nobility i-^ iiulircet ; coming as a tribute of love, animated by the 

33£ Tennyson's in memoriam. 

To commemorate a holy tie, in testimony of a dear * vanished 
life/ the poem was undertaken. It solaced the bereavement of the 
poet's youth. During after years of grief matured into calmness, 
it was continued ; affectionately perfected, during still further 
years of finish. It has since been kept back, till clothed with a 
secure reputation, he could send it forth, — a meet honour to his 
friend, full satisfaction to himself. 

This personal interest of the volume ranks first, in importance. 
We have the history of past inward life ; in the poet's or thinker's 
case, the all significant, the large sequence of outward accident. 
Emerson has snown, how Shakspere,of whom biographically we 
learn almost least, is really most fully known — in his intellec- 
tual and spiritual relations to life, and to all about which it 
nearly concerns us to hear,— of any, merely human, who have 
ennobled this earth. So, now, one of the most reserved of 
poets is known to us, in far deeper sense — than would apply 
to any external biography. Here, we have the revelation of the 
man himself, the picture of his soul during years of trial and 
aspiration ; with distant glimpses of its glad past, forshadow- 
ings of its earnest future. Hereby, we arc made privy to its 
inner truth. We learn hero, its struggles, yearnings, difficulties, 
likings ; its relations to those cardinal topics having interest for 
the thoughtful of all time, its views of many pertaining to the 
present stage of social and intellectual change. 

This brings us to the second great value of the book : the 
expression of a cycle of experience common to thouglitful 
humanity, a world of universal aspiration, yearning, trial ; 
the poetic solution of cvery-day problems of tnought. In his 
large sorrow, his many sided thought, the poet speaks for others. 
Sincere feeling is necessarily a deep matter. On a basis of such 
feeling the poem developed itself. Nay, intensely earnest feeling 
is its superstructure. In the depth of the emotion and of the 
poetry, the book is eminently serious in influence. Deep poetry, 
depth of any kind, is inevitably serious. At the first reading, 
the elcffies arc subtilely, inefifably pathetic. We feci as our 
own, this loss of Tennyson's, the wasting of his youth in grief. 
The poetry connects itself with the deepest life of the reader. 
Vague cherished aspirations come flitting by ; and the sense of 
the might of love, and the glory of Nature, and the majesty of life, 
and our human affinities with greatness. The poet arouses this 
sense of affinity with himself, by the truth of his speech. What- 
ever is true in our nature responds. It has affinity, this inarticu- 
late part of us, whereon he casts hit strong light. He brings the 
latent ore from its hiding place, into the region of consciousness. 

The sorrow of the song is not turbulent and wild. The emotion 
it arouses is buch as we may well cherish ; stirring the depths of 

hue clovating it. At ovory fresh reading, delight and 
Infiivtion in it augment. The chastening atmosphere of 
tio world maslefB all. A quiet joy predominates. 
peak of the volume as a poem. Such it is, distinctively, ^ 
made up of 

' Short swallow flights of song, that dip 

Their winga in tears and skim away.' 
ordered series. Each member conducts to another, nnd 
with it. An organic unity informs the whole; unity n 
ng and of interest. In ita growth, the child of actual 
Qce, of a special epoch of the poet's life, it has a corre- 
g poetic consistency of structure, and spontaneous com- 
w. Each feature has a relevance born of natural emotion. 
! history of a grief, in all its bearings ; to the past, the 
to the poet's being, and that of him he moui'ns. In the 
jB of the sorrow, on its wide poetic reflex, wc see these 
)le figures defined. 

' The imaginative woe, 

That loved to handle spiritual strife,' 
B ' diffused the shock through all his life,* introduces us 
rid, at ODce ideal and real ; of thought, of aspiration ; of 
e beauty, ench as epoutaneously springs to the poet's 
I in traversing the realms of deep and searching exprri- 
Thls form tliL' hivinj,' comnit.Ttior^ilion nntuiully Look : a 
of after life. In the hands of Tennyson, it as naturally 
\ breadth of range and varying beauty. No otherwise 

noble a suggestion of the one lost have been given, so 
shrine raised, to consecrate him through Time. Beyond 
ply stirred poet's being, rises glorified and enlarged that 

a jiiii'm, and distinctively an eleijiac one, in spirit as in 
Hiiile also idyllic and thoughtful. Each piece has more 
(his bearing — is cither tempered by, or born of, serious 
It is vXv^y wondrously enlarged. Not less tndy does 
■crate a inmiory, lieeau-.e sometjiing more than lanu'nt ; 
■ >o full, selt-coiiipli ling ,: comprising much of ail highest 

in-oiiauce with its unity, the poem has an essential bcgin- 
liddle, and end. jVt first, the hushed voice, the stunned 
pin in * bsv bet,'ini lings.' half-stifled cries. _ To these 

1 a i;ath(Ting brooding over grief; with flutterings to and 
i^iiialive scepticisms of loss, hovering tenderness over the 
es,— the transport from a foreign shore to where, 

' from his asliCK may lif ni;i(lo 
The violet of his niiiivc land.' 

3S4 tbn;«tson'8 in memoriam. 

Then^ come yearnings toward the fiEtir time» idealised amid the 
irrevocable past, the youthful time when 

* Not a leaf was dumb. 
But all the lavish hills would hum, 
The murmur of happy Pan.' 

They yield to deeper moods ; confrontings of the future ques- 
tioningSy the fruitless endeavour appointed for all earnest souls 
in the hour of deprivation, to realize the unrealizable, to see as 
without eyes, to know those things * we cannot know *— 

• For knowledge is of things we see.* 

With these, follow yearnings towards the eternal, chill fears of 
separation even there ; now a consoling fancy, now a bright wan- 
dering dream ; then, wilder, * bitter notes,* faltering btcps, and 
darkening 'dimmer eyes:' all self-answered Last dawns the 

* firmer mind ;' sercner onward-lookinizs, beginnings of content ; 
with fair imaginings, fresh pictures &om me past, and of that 
chief figure its central spirit, — all he was, and * all the glow * 

' To which his crescent would have grown.* 

More and more 

' The glory of the sum of things 

Will flash along the chords and go ;* 

mixed still with aspirations to the infinite ; maturing into holier 
calm, clearer hearing ' of the deeper voice across the storm.' 
The song swells into fuller music, brighter hope, * a nobler 
leave.* The voice deepens into firmer trust and truer tones. 
The eyes see clearer now, ' what is, and no man understands,' 

* the hands ' that * out of darkness * 

' reach, through Nature, moulding men.* 

Love grows * vaster passion ;' * its place is changed ' — itself the 
same, and more^ though now ' regret is dead.' The poet dreams 

* a dream of good,' and mingles ' all the world ' with him ' far 
off,' but ' ever nigh.' 

Such is the scope of the poem ; thus wide, and deep, and 
, earnest. May we not well say, it speaks for many ; that the 
poet represents them, in his own noble manner ? We give no 
lengthened examples. Such have been supplied elsewhere. A 
few scattered notes alone, of the poet's melody, wo adopt, to 
leaven the monotony of our own version. 

With the elegiac and speculative burthen, is interspersed much 
purely poetic beauty, shedding light on the rest. Familiar inci- 
dent marks the progress of time and of the sorrow. TTie outward 
world and its relations to the pott are thus represented. Each 

tbnktson's in memoriam. S85 

year's renewal of ChriBtmas-tidc and its hooeehold rites, darkened, 
then deepened by aerious thought, are commemorated ; the aiini- 
yersarics of loss, and of the dear friend's birth ; last, the poet's 
severance from his early homo, from 

' Meadows breathing of the past, 
And woodlands holy to the dead.' 

Another golden thread runs through the poem ; in the objec- 
tively imaginative breaks of light ; the ideal analogies to itself, 
I the creative sorrow realizes, in familiar life. These are exquisite 
in feeling, still more exquisitely wrought; of entire simplicity, 
eloquent of a spirit of sympathy with humanity. 

More than once, a penetrating poet's glance is turned on this 
age itself. A calmly attuned voice is raised in testimony to 
' The mighty hopes that moke ua men:' 

aTiHCe of large trust, of deep-seated faith, of long prophecy; 

' singing of that ' crowning iricc,' tlir ' flowrr and friiil' of that, 
ill us the seed. This lt'n<lcncy is one of Tennyson's prominent 

The commemoration of a bridal having intimate connexion 
with the preceding elegy, forms the conclusion to the volume ; 
pathetic in its tenderness, its beauty and truth; yet serenely 
cheerful in its power. A marriage lay it is, such as Tennyson 
alone could write. The real is steeped in the ideal of poetry. . 
A noble sincerity of poetic speech, poetry bending like 'the blue 
sky' over all, is blended with an exquisite refinement of feeling. 
High earnestness is tempered by the informing subtilty of 
imagination, — imaginative thouglit, imaginative word. \\ litten 
not many years since, it is a connecting link between ciulier time 
and the Tennyson of the present; partukiui,' much of tlie cliaslencd 
m^istery of the volume of 1H4:;. Tlie pr.lnde to ' In .Memoriam,' 
dated 1849, worthily represents the Tennyson of this very time ; 
breathing a manful self-control, a wise reverence, the spirit of 
serene power ; truly, an inspired 

■ Cry above tlic couqucicil years.' 

Every jiieec in the volume possesses, like the whole poem, a 
unity, a central feeling. Each, while a part in a whole, auxiliary 
to the others, has a sonnet-Uke completeness. Each is rounded 
oH' into an indepi'iident appi:al; terminating with an onphatic 
pan-^e, at once satisfying and htimulativc. Now, it is a ptimpsc 
of incident, now a perfected Idyl ; a thought ; a subtile sentiment ; 
alwavs, a true, organic whole. The pervading feeling i.s palpable 
ll ] roil glin lit. He're, it is the Viigneness of a dreamv inilueuce, 
tlnie^ tlie e.ilin of a deep-toned landscape ; the varied burthen, 


336 tenntson's in memoriam. 

all to one full intent, of a loving aspiration ; the Christmas bells 
amid the hills, and mist of night ; the far-reaching suggestion of 
infinite mysteries ; the full joys, from dawn to eve of a summer's 
day ; a regret, a hope ; the large bearing of some idealism ; a 
genial picture of social delights ; here April's freshness, autumn's 
fulness ; there, the opposed yet kin scenes viewed by Hesper, 
the evening, Phosphor, the morning star. 

One of the many subordinate values of the * In Memoriam* 
is its evidence to the capabilities of the Actual. We may here 
learn, — if we knew it not before, — how natarc contains tlie 
material of all most essential, significant poetry. Direct tran- 
script of such is developed by the poet's clear sight and artistic 
mastery, into the poetic and ideal. The feeling of the poem, the 
thought, the idyls, the passages of familiar life^ all illustrate this. 
It has ever been Tennyson s characteristic. It is here mani- 
fested most fully and directly ; a result of the subject matter. 

Definiteness is with Tennyson, an unfailing and remarkable 
part of his power. Every image, thought, picture, is rounded 
oflf into the objective. The most spiritual matters are brought 
J within view. There is no verbal mystery, nothing left to guess, 
remote as are occasional allusions, subtile as are many analogies. 
All is painted, given in light — sometimes that of a wandering 
sunbeam, sometimes that of the orange sunset glow. Clear is 
his sight of that he paints, clear and absolute the thought he 
records. Hence is he enabled to write it without foreign admix- 
ture. As regards words merely, Tennyson is undeniably one of 
the greatest of Expressers, His is the master's facility. His are 
the ' aptcst words to things.* In expert * fitting ' of the one to the 
other, his present practice far exceeds even his original gift. 
UnciTing is his speech, as opulent. It is ever adequate to the 
thought. The balance of the two brings about lucidness, un- 
exampled, in thought so large, feeling so deep, poetry so subtile. 
It, together with his €Bsthetic attainments, has secured him his 
vride audience. 

By none of his calibre, is so little imperative need left for 
return to his pages, after the first few readings. Yet has his 
speech two messages : one for him who runs, another for him who 
stays. Some largely imaginative word thereafter reveals itself. 
The deep meanings grow in fulness. The poetic light of the 
richly tinted expressions of the * ocean mirrors rounded large* 
the ' meanings of the homeless sea,* and the like, is not to bo 
caught at once. The full significance of verses like the follow- 
ing comes with thought : — 

* And all the phantom nature stands 
A hollow form with empty hands ;* 


anil agnin : — 

■ There, where the long street rours, bath hctti 
TUe ttillnese of the central lea. 
Th» hub are sAatioittt and tbey Baw 

i'tOTdform to/«i-m; and nothing stands; 
Tbey melt like mint, tbe solid lands, 
Like clouds they sbape themselves and go.' 

A pasHge wherein is harmonized sublimit}' of thought and of 

For inttanl yividness, ou the contrary, take a landscape such 
z» thi» : — 

' The last ted leaf is whirled away ; 
The Toohs are blown about the sky ; 
The forest eracked, the waters curled, 

The cattle huddled on the lea ; 

And wildly dashed on tower and tree, 
TUe sunbeam tlrike» along the tiiorltl.' 

lUke touchea, to be told by the hundred, of direct reality, like 
' The thousand waves of wheal 
That ripple round the lonely grange ;' — 
■ The wintry wood wbicb gridea and clangs 
Itii leuflesa ribs and iion horns ;' — 
The knoll* at dawn, ' where couched at ease 
The while kiliP plimmcrod, and the (re;-; 
Lnid l/ieir dark rirnis nhoiit the field: 

Take this cvcniiif^ piece, tlie condensed suniiiiary of many pic- 
tures : — 

'The team is loosened from the wain. 
The boat is drawn upon tho shore ; 
Thou listonost to the closing door, 
And life IS darkened in //„■ brain.' 
These are seen, as soon as paiiitpd ; and tlicir beauty fades not ; 
nor docs their deJi.Rlitsomcncss sale, lint the world of broad 
yet subtile reality, the iniaifinalivf- iiiiilv, of nature-pieees con 
tinimus and sdf-coni pic ting, like that at p;iRe !(S : the profound 
dclic.'LCv, and psycholi>{,'ic truth ot sentiment, in the pictures of 
imaginative sorrow, simply pathetic, and of refined beauty, at pp. 
20 and M ; not to speak of the grander bursts of ihoufjht ; are 
only apprehended after bavins; dwelt with us, eberisbcd house- 
hold companions. Tiic ai'rial gi'acc again, of this picture of the 
bride, can but grow with familiarity : — 

• On me she btjiiis licr blissful eyes. 

And then on thee ; they mccl ihy look 
And brishlen. like l/tr star that nhoak 
U, twirl th>- /lalms of Paradlw: 

, lUke 



388 Tennyson's in memoriam. 

In no way, is Tennyson's definite power more shown, than in his 
painting of indefiniteness itself; of those vague influences com- 
mon to certain moods of the mind, and flowing from some 
aspects of external nature. Deep truth is reached in the 
accurate representation of these. Vague emotion is as real an 
entity, as definite. As actually existent in the human mind, 
thus does Tennyson suggest it. He fetches it from its hidden 
home, and imparts by the way a light to set it forth, enabling us 
to see it too. The indefinite he thus realizes ; in his entire free- 
dom from . self-consciousness, that sickly east wind dispersing 
such moods as shadows are chased over a corn-field. 

A landscape is painted not only in itself, but in its relation 
to the human mind — that to be felt in and through it ; its very 
spirit. As, where singing of summer delights, he gives this 
evanescent reality : — 

* O sound to rout the brood of cares, 

The sweep of scythe in morning dewT 

Witness this early mom : — 

* Sucked from out the distant gloom 
A breeze began to tremble, . . . 
And gatliering freshlier overhead. 

Hocked the full foliagcd elms, and swung 

The heavy folded rose, and flung 
The lilies to and fro, and said, 
" 77te dawn, the dawn ;'* and died away,* 

Have we not all heard such ineffable speech ? Again, how true 
a hand plays here : — 

* Yet oft when sun-down skirts the moor 

An inner trouble I behold.* 

Mark the definite mystery, vagueness of influence cmbodird, 
of the following ; sorrow it is speaks : — 

* The stars she whispers, blindly run ; 

A web is woven across the sky ; 
From out tcaste places comes a cry. 
And murmurs from the dying sun." 

So, of this verse of the grand dream at p. 94 : — 

* I dreamed there would be spring no more. 

That nature's ancient power was lost; 
The streets were black with smoke and frost. 
They chattered trifles at the door,' 

Thus much for the spiritual part of Tcmiyson's art In all 
pertaining to the aesthetic and tochnic, his wonted matured per- 


fection ataiids liis great llionghts his elevated feeling in good 
etead ; lending them wings for diffusion among all open to sucli 
charms ; enibalming them for the ages. As the Inst result of his 
art, ranks its freedom ; not the characteristic of his earliest poems. 
The absence of all fine-spun or overloaded ornament is very 
noticeable in the volume. Simplicity prevails: an easy wealth. • 
The diction is direct, self-consistent, in keeping with Nature ; 
natural in the true sense, its use of Nature's beat ; both as to 
choice and flow of words. Inversion, in excess the crazy crutch ■ 
of the lame, rarely occurs. The system inculcated aoA practised 
by Wordsworth is tacitly adhered to, without being pushed to 
extremes. The order of prose, when adequately forcible, is that* 
adopted. But a fairer truth, more subtile reality, are added, 
'llial Promethean spirit, who shall define ? — the touch which 
harmonizes, makes all kin ; the unerring taete dictating selection, 
order, every part ; separating poetry from prose, imagination 
from matter-of-fact, the ideal irom the literal. 

The music of the verse, deeply attuned and varied, as Tenny- 
son's has ever been, is in kind distinct; at once flowing and 
eelf completing, passionate and emphatic ; while tender, august, 
and lingeringly sweet. The stanza, before employed by him, on 
a few minor occasions, is an uncommon and a happy one. It is 
especially fitted to its preaect elegiac purpose ; its oalf'detacliedi 
hnlf-conlinuons application ; and llio efTi^clivc mrdium of earnest 
thoa^'lit .md tciidi'r fcfliiig. itat it is llie use ol' his v,m1o uiark<j 

tlie mii^iciim. Ho is litt-iM 

illy trcafui- of" liis music: biiui^s tin- 

informiug spirit, the mnsl 

eiT ; substautiallv, all. A central 

source of Tennyson's musi 

c,'thc very ^oul of it, is his studied 

modulation of vowel-sound> 

r ahv;iys liis pre-eminent attribute : 

(.v,n more than his timi; hi 

s modulation of pauses. The latter 

has an individual aud peculi 

arly cll"<'Ctivc character in the prof^enl 

pocu), dictated bv tlie slari 

za: vi^'orous. reliucd. simiile. IJut 

the vowcl-^Diiiids, the r--\\\ 

.- material (.r all verbal music, he 

liandles as the polter does 

hisclav. His predomiuam choice 

of^yl]ables, iho most 

cliaracloristic of pure Ku-li-h, and 

his poetic iiihtiucts, ciisiir 

e hiu. a full supply. V o^vels can 

never in our language be 

uunu^rous euoui.'h,as iu Italian, to 

cloy : — for cither excess or 

doled defeats liicir true eiul. IJul 

the developed, rich-toned, v 

ari.d music, he draws from their eon- 

sumniate adiu>tuieut, is a 5 

lart of his art beyond our scanning. 

Though of course juimaril 

V duo to inborn fieling, it is, doubt- 

less, consciously niid arlistii 

ally regulated by the poet. 

For the most part, in Ids 

verse, it is strict rule and unvaryhig 

perfection. Now aiul the 

n, lines appaL-entIv .slovenly occur 

in the present volume i sim 

ihulo those iu liie' IVincessV wbieli 

340 Tennyson's in memoriam. 

one of the half-dossen great musicians among English poets; 
on which discovery they much hugged themselves, in imagined 
superiority. They have yet to learn, a musician does not lose his 
ear, a master forget his mastery, on the sudden ; then resume it. 
These licenses are taken advisedly, to aid a particular effect, 
of vigour, of emotion, or what not ; or, in obedience to a delicate 
minor law of harmony, of course demanding recognition by the 
reader. When there is profusion of vowel-sounds, one is some- 
times run into the other. At page 5, * given in outline,* the 
three central syllables, rightly thus blend. So, in the * cataract,' 
at page 97. In * bringest the sailor,' at page 14, the two central 
syllables are each half-tones ; together making to the ear one 
foot. The slightly-breathed e in * bringest ' tempers the harsh- 
ness of the consonant. Without it, there would be dissonance. 
* Thy spirit should fail from off the globe,' at page 116, is, 
perhaps, a really licentious line ; though not without its com- 
pensating effect, evidently felt by the poet. The slur demanded 
is a little awkward. 

A flaw or two of another kind may be microscopically descried 
in the diction itself. Words, such as ' communicate,' * capa- 
bilities,' foreign to Tennyson's vocabulary, too conventiooal and 
ineloquent for a poet's use, have here and there slipped in, 
amid the effort to represent pure thought. In other poets, where 
such words constitute half the store, we should not notice them. 
In an artist like Tennyson, all whose words ordinarily breathe 
a fresh, refined significance, informed with poetic life, half a 
dozen such in a volume become observable. 

One merit of the stanza chosen, is its aptness for artistic com- 
pleteness. This, with perhaps the poet's natural affection for the 
poem, in its theme ; or the very art itself of the finishing touches, 
has prevented over-finish, the occasional error of this fastidiously 
sensitive poet. 

It is, throughout, instinct with the freshness of first-feeling. 
The breeze of early morning plays about it. llie spirit of the 
Dawn informs it. The strong life of those by-gone hours of 
emotion yet beats here , in earnest pulsations. B ut, though an early , 
it is eminently a perfected utterance. Doubtless it has matured, 
under his hands. Towards the close, matter and manner would 
indicate some substantive interweavings of late date ; as especially 
at p. 195. In any case, the poem, whether from after maturing, 
or the elevation to which strong experience raised the poet in the 
first instance, well represents the Tennyson of to-day, as of yea- 
terday. That ex))crience is now recorded ; pa$t in all senses, 
save Its gain. This is present in the poet's own being. Bluch 
has been solved, much mastered ; for him, as for us. On this sure 
vantage ground of serenity and power, he stands ; free for yet 


nobler enterprise. In its combination of claims, its personal im- 
port, its thoughtful burtltea, its iirt ; the ' In Memoiiam' lunks 
snprpme in interest among his works. It oociipies a place pecu> 
liftrly its o\va, ia its poetic and its interpretativo value. It is a 
central membt^r, the key-stone of the rest. By its light we may 
read then),imd the poet too. Personally and poetically, it re- 
preeents that period, previously a blank to us in his life. 

A«T. \X..~iPm,d*rinyi in some of the Wetlern Republics of America. 
imth Rtmarkt upon tin Cutting of the Great Ship Canal through 
Central America. By George Byara, late of 43rd Light Infantry. 
]2mo. Pp. 264. London: J. W. Parker. 

Wk have not seen Mr. Byam's formor ■volume, but from the 
reports which have reached us we conclude that it must consti- 
tute a good introduction to the one now before us. Looking back 
kom the present to the past, — from the volume on our table to 
its predecessor of last year, we infer that many will be pleased 
to renew their ;icf)uain!nncL' willi a lipht-hearled. iLitclli^'iiit. 
and, on the whole, hound-mioded ELij, traveller, who went 
over ground not frequently vi>iled, and is uvideutty more con- 
cerned to note with accunicv tlian to write finely. I'roni some 
of Mr. Byam's opinious, as "in tiic cit-o of t!ic Navit;ation Laws, 
we dissent. Occasionally lie yoes out of his way to sneer ut 'a 
certain class of philantluopi.sts,' and now and then — lhoii;ih 
very rarely we confess — he viohitea ^guod la^tc in the ridicule 

ivith «hiJh 

he seeks to ii 

IV, s 

tthe \ieH 

■s of Id- 

. opponi nts. 


his own 1,'round, however 

, he 

is ahvav. 

^ el.tilli 

(1 to respect. 


shrewd ohs, 

■rver,wh.. has 


elled uv"e, 

!■ extvtis 

Ive re.' ii 


manner \,c> 

t adapted to 1 



1 Wltli 1 

he condition 


habits ofth. 

.ir people, he 


iks hi, m 

ind free 

Iv, andadud 

ts us 

into the inl 

. lior of social 


, as well 

as iidor 

ms US on vai 


points of p 

( intere: 

■t ai 

id of sci. 

intdic i 

i](|uiry. ^l'^ 


spent HX y 

ears in the \V 


:n l{e,n,b 

lies of /I 

LHierica, he i: 

s oh- 

vioui-ly enti 

tied to speak 


ce, and 

there is an -. 

Lir of 


; in hi> stHteii 


s which . 


<l them to t 


dence. ' Ii 

1 this >mall ^^ 


,' he says 

, ' 1 pre 

ipo;e to take 

.■ my 

reader from 

Chili to the ii 


.or of ikn 

tral Ami 

.erica ; and 1 


misc him, a 

s far a. lies U! 

1 m\ 

■ power, t 

o avoid 

a.iv ^nmuA 


ban been si 

n trodden befi 

»-i: ": 

iis to leai 

,-e a hi-e,'be..t.-, I 


This pro mi; 

^c is well fulHlled, 

and thcr. 

i is con; 

icquenlly a i 


342 byam's western republics of America. 

ness in the information communicated , which, in these days of 
dilettaiite authorship, is specially refreshing. The volume is 
mainly devoted to Chili and Peru, principally the former, and 
treats of the character, occupations, social habits, mining opera- 
tions, natural history, and political institutes of these republics. 
There is no attempt at system or philosophy. The author is 
content to give us facts, and wisely leaves to others the work of 
classification and inference. We need scarcely say that the 
people treated of, are a totally different race from that with 
which Pizarro and Cortes met. They are, for the most part, the 
offspring of Spaniards modified by the special circumstances of 
their American residence. The Indian tribes which first viewed 
with wonder, and then regarded with abhorrence, the chivalrous 
but blood-thirsty soldiers of Spain, have passed away from the 
land of their fathers. The soil they once proudly trod now 
contains their remains, and the record of their sufferings is a 
lasting witness against the people by whom their confidence was 
betrayed. It is impossible to look at the present degradation of 
Spain, without having its American atrocities recalled to the 
mind. Verily there * is a God that judgeth in the earth.' 

There is no continental empire whose boundaries are more 
clearly marked than Chili, and its climate and temperature arc 
marvellously diversified. Its length from south to north is about 
1 ,000 miles, but the greatest diversity of climate is experienced 
in travelling from west to east. * In the latter case/ says Mr. 
Byam, * sometimes one day's journey will enable the traveller to 
experience a transit from burning hot plains to most intense cold 
and never-melting snows. The change is sudden ; and though 
I have often heard a parched-up traveller on the plains express 
a wish to take a good roll in the snow above him, yet, when he 
had arrived there, I never knew one that did not express a 
strong desire to be back again and get unfrozen.^ The popula- 
tion of Chili is stated to be about 2,000,000, thinly scattered over 
a vast extent of territory. The government is nominally repub- 
lican, but really an oligarchy in a few hands, and invested 
with much feudal power. The chief of the clergy, and the 
landlords, constitute in fact the ruling power, and are as really 
the own( rs of the peasantry as the feudal lord was of the Si»rf. 
* Cities and towns,' says our author, * may be free from this in- 
fluence, but in large estates it is real feudalism.' The mode 
adopted varies from that formerly prevalent in Europe, but the 
end attained is substantially the same. The following brief 
extract will explain the process to our rcjiders : — 

* Every landlord keeps, at his ** hacienila," a shop in which is sold 
every article that can |)UbMibly he wanted by any /V<im. Churqur (or 
hunjj: heet ), candles, grease, jackets, trowscrs. |wuchc&, boou, bhocs. 


linen, calico, buttons, threads, needles, togellicr with saddles, pillions, 
nudiulcrus, bita, bridles, and enormous spurs are there exhibited ; and, 
lit the Mime time, temptations in the shape of muslins, gauso, French 
imttatioQ ear-rings and neckkccs, and all those " objcis de luxe " that 
ni«y prove attractive to the fairer (only by comparison) sea. 

' The tirKt object of a Chilian guBsso is to haye a handsome saddle 
and good skins, or pillions, over his (generally speaking) good horse, 
with an ornamental head-piece and large spura — silver, if possible. 
He goes to the aboTC -mentioned shop, and easily gets credit for the 
whole turn out ; and he immediately becomes a bondnman : he can never 
pay his debt, or, if he pay that one. be still remains in debt for somc- 
thiug else — even necessary articles, that can only he bought at that 
shop and nowhere else. He at last arrives at that point of debt when 
he is as much bound to the soil, as if he lived in England in the time 
of our first Norman kings. It is no use flying and seeking another 
home and another patron ; he is almost certain to be caught ; sent back 
severely punished, and the expenses of his capture added to the original 
debt. He is, to all intents and purposes, bound to the ami; — should 
the estate devolve to heirs, the debt passes with it. Should the 
hacienda be sold (even to a stranger), the debt may be sold with it. and 
the man is nothing more than a respectable kind of serf. Now out of 
about one thousand men ready to attend my friend's bidding, there 
were scarcely a dozen out of debt ; in fact, i/tei/ had sold iJiemiehes.' — 
Pp. 10. 1 1. 

An intereeting account is giTcn of the Chilian mhiers, whose 

imrtiljcr.-. urc foriM-Urable iiiuTtlirlr ^Ircn.L'lh ji roil i^' ions. ' As n 
race of" miri (iikysic^dlv spunkiiii;), tlic north ol' Chili minci's arc 
fine : thc-y arc vt^ry s'elLlcim alovt- llio iiiiilillc liiiylit, but ol' 
immense power and mrfngth. Tliis gn.-at iluvclopmunt of muscle 
docs not |)rocc(d from thu brrcd, ntarlv ;!s niucli as it docs IVom 
the .^cvtre training tlicy unikiL;o f.oiu" llieir v»iuh, wliidi liaiil 
training brings on olil aL,'o ratii<i- pieiiiiiliirciy. In foiiii anil 
Icatiirc tlievare not to in^'compund wIili tin- Aii'.;Io-S;l\oii race; 
hut ill \hL- pmili^r wav in ^vl,ic■h llicv luvc u> . nitI tl,rlr Mr, n-lli 
it would U- dilllcultanvulirrc to uuVt lli. h m.ilcli.' Mrciiunl 
■■>ilvc- vvitii this hiid' 


try. a 

iiL ■ 

id I 

ThLlT are ivv of our y.v<lr.s « Im liav,- not U-.ud of tlie yood 
.j.iHlitie.- of therhiliati hoi-o. Mr. Ilvaiii is n -i c ;U iulumr,-, 
;mtl a,s,-ri!Ks liis points uilli all l)ie"vv,'„ „C au .U \Y>.u.\. 
■SmA\ head ^^ilh biu;:;! fonli'^i<l. -.waX v., il s>l on : ^u^l.■ d.tsl, 
slantii,- ^lu.iihh r. uvll h:,n-r\], d, -In.;.- |..i^^-, .iivl . h-,^ii \'a le-., 
.liorl limhrllKkiKo: -ood limxU; < 1 ; of cour l;-. ;.ikI a 




344 byam's western republics of America. 

marvellous, and greatly surpasses the power of an English steed. 
The reason of this is obvious. We begin to work our horses 
before their constitution is thoroughly set, whereas in Chili, the 
horse usually passes his first four years on the mountains, and 
scarcely ever docs any hard work until six years old. 

* Mares are never ridden in Chili ; but roaming about half- wild 
impart to their foals their own hardy constitution. Thus the horse has 
acquired his full growth and strength before he is called upon for great 
exertion, and when he is, his good health and constitution both enable 
him to perform it, and after a long day's journey to defy the bitter 
blasts from the snowy Andes. At seven or eight years of age he is 
considered almost a colt. I have often asked a man the age of his 
horse, and have been told, * Oh, quite young ; he is only twelve 
years old.* — P. 67. 

The horse is in fact admirably suited to the country and to the 
purposes for which he is wanted. * TTie Chilian does not want 
a cart-horse, nor a race-horse : he wants a serviceable, useful 
nag ; fast enough to overtake cattle or horses, strong enough to 
pull a bull down in his career, and of a constitution hardy 
enough to stand the change from a burning hot day to a cold 
night in the open air, — and the Chilian has just got what A# 

The proprietors of Chili possess large herds of cattle, which 
roam at large on the moimtains, and are only annually subjected 
to inspection. This takes place generally in September, is de- 
signated a * rodeo,' and is a time of great and universal enjoy- 
ment. Mr. Byam was present at many of these * rodeos,* and our 
readers will be gratified at his account of one of them. 

* A party of about sixteen arrived at the hacienda the previous after- 
noon, each well provided with lassos, &c. As my horses were all shod, 
my host promised to provide me with unshod horses the next day ; for 
a shod horse has no chance on the side of a rocky mountain, and 
horses kept for the hills have hoofs as hard as ebony or iron- wood. We 
dined about five o'clock, and a merry dinner it was ; but, beforehand, 
most of the tenants were mustered on horseback, with the exception of 
those who lived too far off, and who had previously received their 
orders. Thoy then divided into many separate parties, and rode off to 
the summits of the range of mountains that nearly surrounded us. At